


Not Much of a Riddle

by AyaFlower



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Domestic Violence, Heavy emotional shit here guys, High School AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-17
Updated: 2015-10-30
Packaged: 2018-03-07 21:47:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 39,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3184325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AyaFlower/pseuds/AyaFlower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tucker's first instinct is to run the fuck away before he gets any more entrenched the pain surrounding David Washington. His next instinct is to cancel out the first one.</p>
<p>And Tucker has a habit of speaking without thinking.</p>
<p>OR</p>
<p>Wash is incredibly fucked up and Tucker simultaneously helps and makes things worse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lemons and Copper

**Author's Note:**

> So holy shit this is way longer than expected. I've spent well over four hours copy editing this, so I hope there's no mistakes that I missed. I wrote this kind of back and forth with a friend, and I tried to make it flow but her writing style is much different from mine and I don't know how well I did.
> 
> As always, feedback is appreciated :)

Wash’s hands shake as his fingers fumble with the device in his hand, carefully pressing each numbered pad. He stares at the illuminated screen, thumb hovering over the fated green button. The florescence from the phone casts soft light across the dark streets around him, shadows curling against his feet on the cool concrete.He takes a deep breath and hits call. Noise filters in from the speakers, static clouding the conversation and the music so they all blend together as one. There’s a click, and a voice talks into the microphone.

“Wash? What the fuck do you want?”

A relieved sigh escapes his lips. “Tex, thank Christ. I’ve been wandering the streets for like two hours now and I have absolutely no idea how to get home from here-”

“You do realize it’s like, midnight, right?” She cuts him off without hesitation, exasperation heavy in her voice. He runs a hand through his hair, wincing as his palm brushes the still-bleeding cut behind his ear. “Yeah, I know. I’m an idiot. Can you just come pick me up please?”

An apathetic sound of acknowledgement. “Where are you?”

Wash turns to check the street sign to his left, pulling his phone away from his ear to shine it across the numbers. “Corner of 64th and 128th.” He relays, voice dropping to match the quiet that seeps in from around him.

“Alright, Wash, I’m kinda busy right now.” He starts to respond but she talks right over him. “But maybe I can send one of Church’s friends? Tucker, probably. You’ve met him, right?” She doesn’t wait for an answer. “Okay then bye.”

“Tex-“ He pulls a last-ditch attempt at an argument, but she’s already hung up. “Shit.” He mutters to himself before sinking down to sit cross-legged on the pavement and committing himself to the silence.

 

Tucker is, for once, at home on a Friday night. Home for now, anyway, he'd probably hit the party scene and make out with someone he won't remember in morning and drink shitty booze. Nice. But for the moment just chilling, watching some stupid TV show about man eating zombie tigers or something that's just entertaining enough not to turn off, when his phone starts ringing and vibrating off the damn couch making him curse and stoop to grab it and check the caller ID. Church.

“Hey man.” 

“Hey.” awkward hovers over the line but before Tucker can fill it church continues “I need you pick someone up for me.” 

“Is she hot? bowchic-” Church cuts him off. “I'm serious you perv.” 

“Ugh." Tucker rolls his eyes like Church can see him. “Fine." 

"Thanks assbag.” Church mutters "It's Tex's friend, Wash?" 

Tucker runs the name though his mind for a minute.... Oh yeah... "4th block math?"

“Yeah." Church finishes "I'll text you the street name.” and the line goes dead. 

Tucker gets up and grabs a coat; this could be interesting. He jumps into his beat up jeep and burns rubber towards the street corner, not that he's in a hurry, he just hates going slow.  When he gets to aforementioned street corner he scans the pavement and creepy old trees, branches knocking together like bones. Until he sees Wash's  blond hair glinting faintly in sliver of moon. He's sitting all curled onto himself like snail in its shell and it's amazing that someone so fuckin tall can look so little.  Tucker steps towards him and is almost knocked over by waves of fear and confusion rolling off this guy.  Tucker tentatively touches Wash's shoulder. 

"Wash? You okay?” Wash blinks, staring up at the figure before him. He's silhouetted by the car's headlights, casting shadow across one side of his face. His eyes shine, vibrant green bright against the darkness that Wash can feel creeping up behind him. It takes just less than thirty-seconds for Wash to realize he's been spoken to.

"Oh. Uh, yeah." He chokes a little on the last syllable but pulls himself to his feet,brushing the dust off his shirt as he's lead gently towards the vehicle. The door's opened in front of him and there's that sense of panic rising up in his chest again. "Wait!" he blurts out, heat rising in across his cheek and neck as he tries to calm his racing nerves. "You are Tucker, right?" He asks, slowly, carefully, just because he needs to know for sure.

_Jesus H Christ._  

Tucker almost laughs at the question and gives some snarky answer but seeing the look on Wash's face he just nods "Yeah". But he can't resist adding "Do need ID?" In an only half sarcastic tone. 

In the car Wash is almost shaking and the blend of emotion sparking off his skin is electrifying. Tucker tries to concentrate on calm vibes, sending them to the boy in the passengers seat. 

It's quiet. 

Tucker can't stand silence so he cranks classic rock up loud enough to scald eardrums and peels out the deserted street like a competitor in the Indy 500. Then just hopes to hell Wash doesn't fuckin kneel over and die next to him.  He really doesn't need to deal with a body in his car. 

Again. 

Wash wonders. A lot. It's kind of his thing. So as he sits in the passenger seat of Tucker's car with his forearms hooked under his knees, he stares out the window and starts to wonder. His mind drifts in all kinds of directions, from trying to remember the name of the song on the radio -definitely too loud, by the way- to stupid hypotheticals about his friends and the future he somehow can't envision himself in.  

Oh, but then he starts to _think_ and that's bad. Colours and shapes and faces blur across his vision and it takes him a while to realize that their tears. Memories start to flash and he needs a distraction-

Tucker has no idea where he's going. Wash hasn't said jack shit since the car started moving, he just sits there and stares ahead like a deer caught in the headlights. _What is with this guy?_  

Wash reaches up to brush his fingers across the back of his head. His hand comes away stained red and he feels all too exposed in his haste rub the colour off against his shirt.

Tucker's about to ask him where the hell they're supposed to be going when a flash of crimson in Wash's wheat gold hair catches his eye. He whips around, making sure it's not a trick of the light. It's not. It's blood, and Tucker's no doctor, but he's pretty sure there's more blood gushing out of Wash's head than a person can stand to lose. He jams the off button the CD player. Wash jumps at the sudden silence and Tucker takes to the opportunity to ask him "Why the fuck are you bleeding on my car?" 

That's what he says, but he's pretty sure the concern in his voice is obvious.

Wash's brain goes dead silent. Dead. Fucking. Silent.

Then the chaos starts. At first it's just white fog but then it clears and it's someone else that asks him the same question. He's screaming at himself on the inside, he 's too far, too late. Watches himself stutter and choke on a response that he doesn't have before clicking the unlock on the passenger side door and throwing himself out the side. His palms scrape against the pavement and he sees the flesh on his hands get peeled back in front of his face. He leaps to his feet and sprints across the road, reaching for the break in the treeline-

And he falls short. Every single time, he falls short. It’s not the first, and it’s not the last. His fingers tighten around the door’s handle, knuckles white. Cold metal bites into his hands as he tries to force his arm away, tells himself _he’s not going to hurt you._

“Cut myself.” He decides to go with instead, because that seems like the best he can do.

_Yeah, right._ Tucker thinks he saw the way Wash's pupils dilated and the way his breath caught as he answered. Tucker raises an eyebrow to let Wash know he's calling bullshit. But he doesn't say anything, he just pulls the car over into a random side-street and rummages in the glove compartment for a first aid kit he keeps there for Junior; the kid's a train wreck. He can feel Wash's eyes on him as he grabs a piece of gauze. 

"Sit still.” he orders and Wash nods. But then Tucker’s hand grazes his neck and he starts, leaning away from the touch. His breath catches in his throat and he clicks the unlock on the door, pressing his palm into the handle. Pain shoots through his skull like a lance and he struggles with the walls that close in around him until he can barely breathe. He opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes, so he just stares at Tucker with wide eyes and parted lips and begs forgiveness with his eyes.

Wash looks like he's trying to escape from a nightmare. Tucker leans back to his seat, giving him space. Wash's breathing is rough and he sounds like he's about to freakin cry.  Also the rapid movement makes his head start weeping blood again and Tucker really doesn't need him passing out.  He should really say something now, but unless he's picking up chicks Tucker's not great with words, but he can see the fear in Wash's eyes and the way he trembles. So Tucker does the only thing he can think of doing; he wraps an arm around the blond and holds him tight enough that he can't shake. Wash's muscles tighten and a strangled sound escapes him. Tucker doesn't let go and after few minutes he sort of relaxes. Sort of. 

Wash is ice cold and Tucker can feel his heart beating erratically. Wash pulls shaky breaths through constricted lungs, curling a fist in Tucker’s shirt. He holds on like the world’s ending and he’s not ready to go with it, and it keeps him anchored as everything starts to crumble around him. The silence of the night still heavy on his shoulders as he tries desperately to hold back the sobs that gather in his chest. He forces himself to pull away, leaning back against the closed door. His head throbs, but all he can feel are the tears running down his cheeks. His voice is raw and it breaks but he turns away after he speaks because he doesn’t need to be seen like this. “I’m sorry.”

Tucker brushes off the apology like sand from a beach towel. "It's okay." But the look on Wash's face says it's not. 

Tucker grabs a new bit of gauze and again orders him to "Stay still.” He moves slowly, it’s like being around a wild animal. Tucker gently begins to dab at the wound, murmuring softly in response to Wash's little hisses of pain. Wash's eyes are still wide open and distrustful. 

Tucker tries to ignore the way scarlet poppies bloom on the snow white gauze and begin to spot his own skin. 

Tucker’s face is carefully guarded as he covers Wash’s wound. He mutters quiet reassurances that don’t quite get through, but they’re there and that’s enough. Dark red liquid runs down Tucker’s arms and Wash feels sick. Guilt pools in his stomach and suddenly it hits him that he shouldn’t have asked for this, shouldn’t have called Tex because it wasn’t fair to ask for help. Shouldn’t have jumped out of a car in the dead of night and should’ve at least stopped at a payphone or gas station rather than take a Friday night from someone else.

Should’ve stayed home.

Should’ve stayed _safe._

Tucker can see something in Wash's face change, just slightly. Tucker finishes with the gauze and starts dabbing peroxide on Wash's head making him wince and squeeze his eyes shut.  Tucker is pretty sure Wash needs actual medical attention but something about this guy makes him 100% sure that taking him to an actual hospital would be a really bad idea.  There's still tiny shimmering droplets clinging to Wash's cheekbones and Tucker stops with the peroxide for a minute to softly brush them away. It feels like a weirdly intimate thing to do suddenly but Tucker doesn't really stop to think about it.  He think about the way his stomach swoops as his fingertips skate over Wash's bare skin either. Wash watches Tucker lean back, surveying the bandage for a moment before nodding once to himself and turning back to fiddle with the ignition.

It’s quiet.

Really quiet.

“Thank you.” Wash tells him, genuine in ever way, as he glances out the windows at the street around them. He swallows, hard. ”I think I can find my way back from here.” He lies through his teeth “It’s not that far.” He doesn’t have a fucking clue. He reaches for the car door. Freezes. “Sorry to bother you.” Cold air hits him with the force of a freight train, and he breathes it in like the poison that it is.

“Bullshit.” Tucker grabs the back of Wash's shirt and yanks him back into the vehicle, clicking the auto lock before Wash can react. Thank god for blood loss because otherwise Wash could easily break his grip.  Tucker wets his lips and looks Wash straight in the eyes. "First of all, you're not bothering me.” Tucker drums his hands on the wheel, noting how the movement draws Wash's eyes like a magnet.  “Second, no. I'm not letting you out in the middle of know where with a bloody head.”Tucker leaves no room for protest “Just tell me where you live.”

Wash opens with mouth to argue, but words seem to fail him. Instead, he hangs his head, muttering his address under his breath. A stray lock of hair falls over his face, piercing his pupil like a spotlight in the dark. He takes a deep inhale and lets it go, almost like he's trying to clear smoke from his lungs. He almost whispers _'thank you'_ and he almost whispers _'sorry'_ but he can't seem to force the words from his lips, mind locking his speech like stitches and scars.

They drive in silence but for the radio which has resumed screeching. Tucker hates the haze of awkward hovering between them but can't find the words to break it. So he just keeps driving, Wash just looks zoned out, drained.  Eventually a dingy beige apartment building rolls into view and Tucker screams the jeep to a stop and unlocks the doors. 

He gives Wash his signature half smile. “See you at school.” And then roars off into the dark.  Wash stands alone in the night, watching Tucker's taillights fade into the distance. A soft sigh escapes his lips, and he keeps the image of Tucker's smile close at the front of his mind. He'd say it was almost...radiant, but the word tastes like cyanide on his tongue.

So he doesn't, just turns to the revolving doors and enters the building to face his fate.

After a brief stop at home to change out of his bloody clothes, Tucker rolls up to a party thrown by some kid he barely knows and proceeds to get absolutely shit faced. He can't dissolve the image of Wash's tortured eyes, though.

* * *

The classroom practically buzzes with background noise, conversations thick in the space. Wash keeps his head down, holding his binder close to his chest. His feet make no sound as they glide across the tiled floor, silence following him like a second shadow. He makes a point to maintain a casual pace as he finds his seat at the back corner of the room, opening his book and flipping through each individual page until he reaches Friday's assignment.

A blank page stares back at him.

Fuck.

Tucker scans the room for a good seat. Church and those guys wave him over from near the window. Some hot chick who he might have French kissed last week  bats her lashes. Aha, he spots Wash's blond head bent low over the desk. After quickly getting the answers from Fridays assignment from Hottie #4 he strolls to the back of the room and slides into the seat next to Wash.  Wash starts as a figure takes the seat next to him, transferring smoothly from from standing to sitting. He tears his gaze from the empty paper, scanning Tucker's face with surprised eyes. The other man flashes him a quick smile, and he finds himself returning it, almost involuntarily. He pushes the negative voices to the back of his mind in favour of turning just slightly to the side, facing the newer arrival.

"Hey." He manages, somehow with a steady tone.

“Hey." Tucker grins lazily and peeks at Wash's paper. Blank. Tucker snickers to himself and slides Hottie #4's answers under Wash's nose.  He laughs out loud at Wash astonished expression. 

Wash blinks, once, twice. Looks at the paper. Then at Tucker. Does this four more times before slowly taking his pencil and starting to copy out the answers. "Number 8 is wrong." He says, but he means ' _thank you’_.

Tucker rolls his eyes "Then fix it, smartass.”

Wash carefully erases the answer on Tucker's page, replacing it with a simplistic 42. He nods once to himself, looks up and-

Tucker suddenly turns serious, the amused gleam leaving his emerald eyes "Is your head okay?" He asks gently, a concerned note in his voice.

Wash freezes, thoughts starting to run at a thousand miles an hour but he dismisses them in favour of sending Tucker a gentle smile. "Yes, thanks." He replies, even with the half-empty bottle of Advil that feels like lead in his pocket.

Tucker stares searchingly into Wash's eyes. And finally just sighs "Alright". 

Silence cloaks the room as the teacher enters. Well, silence from all but Church, who continues scolding Caboose and from Tucker, who finds it necessary to make a joke about said teacher dirty enough to scald Wash's ears and cause more snickering from Tucker.

"What the fuck?" Wash whispers, turning his attention momentarily away from the lesson. "Is this what you're normally like in class?”

Tucker's smirk and crude hand gesture is enough of an answer. 

Wash sighs dramatically but can't keep a smile from creeping over his own face. 

It's on of the least productive most enjoyable math classes ever.  Tucker hates the scared-rabbit look Wash often wore and instead kept Wash laughing (and rolling his eyes) the entire lesson. 

Victory.

Tucker's almost reluctant to leave when the bell goes, dammit he wants to stay and keep that rare smile lighting up Wash's face.  As Wash turns to leave, something falls from his pocket. Tucker quickly scoops it up.

Advil? 

Shit. 

Wash is already gone, but Tucker takes off purposefully though the hallway to find him. 

The side of Wash's head throbs with a dull ache as the medication starts to wear off, so he sighs and subjects himself to the crowded hallways.  He makes it around the corner, supporting himself with his forearm against the wall. He searches for the pills in his pocket but...

Oh, fuck.

Tucker finally sees Wash sitting in a secluded corner near the main staircase, his head is cradled in his hands. "Looking for something?" He demands holding the only half full bottle, Which according to the label was only bought yesterday.

Yesterday.

Wash looks up at Tucker's accusatory face and the bile rises in his throat. His breath catches, meeting his green eyes with an expression that borders on pleading. Pain still shoots through the back of his skull, clouding his mind. He turns his gaze down, a spot just next to Tucker's shoe suddenly becoming extremely fascinating.

Why does Tucker have turquoise shoes, anyways?

“Look at me.” Tucker's voice is at once angry and concerned. 

“Tucker…” He murmurs, and doesn't comply.

Tucker kneels in front of him, and reaches out cup Wash's chin in his hand and tilt his head up, forcing him to meet his eyes “This is not okay.” Tucker almost whispers. “You're going to hurt yourself.”

Wash swallows, skin burning where it meets Tucker's fingers. He's caught somewhere between _'I'm fine leave me alone'_ and _'If I get hurt it won't be my fault'_ but he can't say either of those things. “What do I do?” He whispers back, but he's not really talking about the head wound.

Tucker answers immediately without thinking, without words either. Instead he slides down to sit next to Wash against the wall. And like he did he did in the car he drapes an arm over him and Wash rests his aching head on Tucker's shoulder. This time he's almost totally relaxed.

Almost.

Tucker doesn't know why he does that, except that it feels right. It's not weird, maybe it should be, but it seems natural to have Wash leaning on him, close enough that hear his way-too-goddamned-fast heartbeat. Wash leans into Tucker without hesitation, feeling the warmth of the other's body against his own and welcoming it when all he can feel is cold. The touch and the voice keep him grounded, so he doesn't lose himself, sinking until he's drowning in bloody washcloths and cheap painkillers.

Tucker tells him “I don't know.” and instead of explaining like part of him wants to he just says “Me neither.”

Tucker is close enough to notice that Wash smells like lemons and copper, it's oddly pleasant.  Neither moves as the bell starts going. Until Tucker slowly gets up, pulling Wash with him, Wash makes a soft noise that sounds like “Stay.” and almost instantly clams up, _shit fuck I was not supposed to say that what is wrong with me?_ His face burns hotter than the sun and he can feel Tucker's eyes on him. He drops his head to his chest, shuffling his feet across the floor. Damn idiot.

Tucker grabs Wash's hand, "What's the rush?" He continues ignoring mumbled excuses about being late for class.  Wash looks ashamed. Tucker pulls him back towards himself. “It's okay.” His voice is soft. “It's going to be okay.” 

Wash yanks his hand from Tucker's grip, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning his shoulders over his body. “No.” He states, with a force that's fuelled by anger and regret. “No, it's not okay.”

Tucker goes quiet for a moment, by the time he opens his mouth to speak again, Wash has turned on his heel and stormed off. 

Tucker just stands there, his arms feel strangely empty.  There's really no point in going to class now he figures, so he grabs his shit and leaves. His body's headed towards home but his minds not getting anywhere. 

Wash's fist clenches and releases next to his side as he walks,  thoughts following the same pattern of focus and confusion. His feet carry him down the sidewalk without his mind's permission, forcing him to stand in front of that fated apartment building. Then he realizes he doesn't want to go home, he wants to laugh and smile and talk to someone who makes him feel real. He spins on his heel and faces the rural areas, condemning himself to an evening of aimless wandering.

* * *

 

Tucker forces himself to walk slowly into math class the next Friday, scans the room for Wash. Nada. Tucker feels his brow furrow, it really wasn't like Wash to be late.  Tucker takes a seat in back of the room, and is about to resign himself to Wash being absent when the blond stumbles into the room. Tucker immediately know something's wrong, Wash doesn't stumble. 

Tucker doesn't bother to ask if he's okay.

He's obviously not.

Wash drags himself into the classroom, trying desperately to hide the slight limp in his right leg. He'd spent a half an hour scrubbing makeup across the side of his face, but it had washed away in the rain. Black and blue paints his skin with thick strokes, thin cut line running along his cheekbone. He sits down without speaking, he looks wan and pale. His eyes are weirdly unfocused and his skull is throbbing but he hasn't dared get within 5 feet of the medicine cabinet. Every time he reaches that room, he freezes, wondering what Tucker might do to him if he went there again.

He swallows his pain with his fear and his self-worthlessness, catching Tucker's eye across the room before taking a seat three rows to his left. Alone.

Doesn't expect forgiveness, either.

Tucker is bouncing his legs enough to shake the whole row of desks willing the clock to _hurrythefuckup_ already. Finally the lesson is over and they change seats to work.  Wash hasn't written down a thing.  Tucker stands abruptly, and snatches his stuff.  Something in the way he's walking makes groups of people part like the Red Sea towards Wash's desk. 

"Did you get hit by a fuckin car?” Wash looks up, wincing at the fire in Tucker's eyes. He stands, slowly, shakily, trying to make himself small. His shoulders hunch, and he shifts his weight back slightly, preparing for both a run and a fight. "No." He says, carefully but with conviction.

Tucker winces at close up sight of Wash.  But before he can see anything Wash wheels around slips out the door. 

Fuck. 

Tucker's about to follow when the teacher takes notice and makes him sit back down.  Tucker sits for a minute before strolling casually up to the second row where some kid who's in this class because he's a fuckin genius or something sits.  That kid'll do anything for blackmail material. Truthfully he's creepy as hell and Tucker would prefer to have nothing to do with him. But shit happens. 

“Hey,” Tucker hisses “O’Malley.” Tucker has no idea if that's the kids real name or even if he has one. 

“What?" O'Malley mutters “What do you want?”

“A diversion.” Tucker fires back “I need out of here.” 

The kid considers this "Fine, but-" 

Tucker cuts him off “This teacher fucks the married janitor.” 

O'Malley face cracks into a nightmarish grin.   

Tucker walks casually back to his seat, suddenly a scream splits the room. He jumps up and hauls ass out of the room as a black smoke begins to seep under the door.  Tucker heads towards Wash's locker. He might not be there but it's worth a shot.

Wash's feet have a mind of their own as he strides purposelessly down the long hallways. The space all looks the same, twists and turns holding no significance. Until he's staring at a number. He fumbles with combination for his locker, grateful for something he can do with his hands. The door pops open with a soft click, and he rummages through it before pulling out a bottle of water and downing half of it in one go. He pours some on his hands, splashing it over his face. He hears footsteps behind him, turning his head just slightly. And his breath catches in his throat at the sight of those stupid turquoise shoes.

Miraculously Wash is at his locker, the look on his would be funny if it weren't so terrifying. “What the fuck do think you're doing?” Tucker's voice is harsher than he meant it to be “Wash, what the hell are you doing to yourself?”  Tucker feels like punching something or shaking the answers out of Wash because he can't stand not knowing.  _I barely know this guy._  Tucker thinks. _W_ _hy the hell do I care?_ He has no answer for that.

Wash keeps his eyes trained on the ground. "I'm not doing anything." He replies meekly, shrinking away from the anger he can feel radiating off the other man.

Tucker tries unsuccessfully to stay calm. “Then tell who the fuck did so I can pay Tex to beat them death with their own skull.” His voice, even to his own ears is a feral snarl and he hopes Wash know he's not made at him.  The way he's standing though, he doubts Wash gets it. 

Wash tilts his head upwards, meeting Tucker's angry eyes. He stays still, holds his ground until Tucker's hand moves and then shoots back like he's been struck by lightning. His back hits the wall with a dull thud and pain reverberates along his spine but it's nothing compared to the fear the grips his heart like ice. “It was an accident, I swear!” He pleads, praying to every deity known to man that he doesn’t need to hide another wound from someone else.

Tucker lowers his hand in a gesture of surrender. “Fine.” his voice is clipped and tight. “Assuming you just got hit by a bus.” He hates the way Wash looks so damn scared of him.

Wash wishes Tucker wouldn't assume. He also wishes he could say that out loud. He wishes for a lot of things. None of them come true.

“At least let me clean you up.” Tucker gestures to Wash's head, it's bleeding again, and to the cuts going up his arms "It's going to get infected."  Wash shakes his head and shrinks towards the wall “Come with me to the car or I will get a damn ambulance over here.” Tucker doesn't like threatening him, but he likes the idea of Wash getting gangrene from open wounds even less.

Wash follows Tucker with a wary distance, shuffling across the empty corridors. He lets himself be led to Tucker's beat up jeep, trying not to stare as he pulls the first aid kit from his car. He flinches a little when Tucker's hands brush over his cheek, eyes locked. He can see the fury held back in the other man's gaze, just barely covered with frustrated concern. Concern for him. He feels a little nauseous at the thought.

Tucker isn't sure how much self control he has left. Wash looks like fell off the Empire State Building, covered in nicks and cuts. But Tucker manages to keep a straight face until he's lifting the collar of Wash's shirt and finds perfect finger shaped bruises along his neck. 

Wash watches with barely contained fear as all the blood drains from Tucker's face when he sees the injuries along his collarbone, knowing the bruises look like perfect imprint of _his_ hands. Remembers the pain and the claustrophobia of being held by the throat until he felt like he was going to die. Tucker's hands press lightly against the black and blue marks, a horrified look plastered across his features. Wash can't help but think he's looking that way at him and not at the wounds.

“Wash.” Tucker's voice catches, shock and worry and rage painting his skin. “Wash,” He starts again. "Please, please tell me I'm not seeing what I think I'm seeing.”

Wash opens his mouth, tries to speak, but the words don't come. Tears cloud his eyes and he blinks rapidly in an attempt to clear them. His teeth dig into his lower lip and he just looks away, wanting to lie almost as badly as he wants to tell the truth but he can't seem to do either. He hangs his head in shame and waits for whatever's coming to him.

Tucker's first instinct is to run the fuck away before he gets any more entrenched the pain surrounding David Washington. His next instinct is to cancel out the first one.  And Tucker has a habit of speaking without thinking.  “Need a place to crash tonight?” He asks because he somehow gets the feeling that Wash is going to end up sleeping on a bench otherwise. And even if he's not there's no way in hell he wants Wash going back to the sinister, dinghy beige apartment.

“No.” Wash snaps with venom in his voice, because it's always better to be angry than hurt.

Tucker shuts his eyes for a moment, tries to tell himself it's not his problem.  “Okay, okay, Wash.” He says, finally, and unlocks the door to let him go. But as Wash gathers his things Tucker slips a paper with his number into Wash's pocket. 

Wash heads north on foot, in the direction of the apartments.  Tucker notes the direction, counts to ten and follows.

Wash crosses his arms over his chest, holding them close to his body for warmth. There's no point in going back to the school now, and he's been falling down on his studies as of late anyways. His feet carry him in the direction of his house (house not _home_ ) and he lets them, cold and numb being the only registered emotions in his mind. He wanted to accept Tucker's offer. Really, he did. More than he's wanted anything in a while.

Tucker skulks after Wash, and it should say something that normally perceptive man doesn't notice Tucker's ninja attempts.  Tucker feels a shudder skip over his shoulder blades as the building comes into view.

Wash hesitates at the front door, pulling his hood over his head as rain starts to fall from the heavens again. He stares at the doorknob for a total of sixty seconds, shaking slightly. Then his hand reaches in his pocket, searching for his phone before brushing something that wasn't supposed to be there. He frowns as he pulls the paper from his sweater and unfolds it, staring wide eyed at the ten digit number and the name written below it in messy scrawl. He swallows thickly and shoves it back into his pocket, fingers somehow drawing his keys instead of what he was initially looking for. He studies the two silver keys in a brief moment of astonishment that he's been allowed to keep them. Rage sparks in his chest and grows with the inferno behind his eyes, and he decides that he's going to do something stupid. Something that will probably get him killed.

He spins on his heel and strides along the grass until he reaches the parking garage, yanking the door open with a sugar coated agony.

Fuck his stupid boyfriend. He's getting out of here, if only for a while.

Tucker thanks every god that he's long since stopped believing in that Wash doesn't go home. He not stupid, though, he knows Wash'll go home sometime but the fact that he’ll avoid whatever's in there for even a minute makes Tucker smile.  He walks back to school without feeling the rain, drives home in a fog and sits on his bed and laughs until he cries. 

_What the fuck is wrong with me?_

Wash glares at the blue painted convertible with hate filled eyes, spinning the keys around and around his index finger. He lean heavily on his right hip, fingers curled around his waist. His foot taps against the floor and goddamn is he angry. He opens the driver's side door and swings through the opening, pulling the handle shut with a force that makes the whole vehicle shake. His knuckles are white where he grips the steering wheel, and he smirks before jamming the key in the ignition. He pulls the car sloppily out of the underground shelter, still getting a feel for the handling. It's been a while since he'd dare touch it, and it feels good to be doing something. He drives down the streets, taking winding roads to somewhere he's never been before. He pulls the car over to one side of the street after about 40 minutes, purposefully scraping the curb. He exits with a flourish, footsteps heavy on the pavement. He stops for just a second, spinning the key in his hand before digging it into the paint on the side and dragging it in a thin line. He stares at the scratch and laughs like a madman, taking the small chain and launching it into the treeline.

He spins extravagantly in a wide circle, sprinting off into the city. He doesn't look back.

 

Tucker wonders what Wash is doing. Then wonders why he's wondering.  Everything's fucked up.

 

Wash's thoughts eventually make their way back to Tucker, as they seem to always be fated to. He sighs, pulling his phone and the paper from his pocket and copying the digits on the screen. He knows he can't get back to the apartment now, at least not until tomorrow, unless he wants a bullet through his head. He's not quite ready to go yet. He hits call and presses the device to his ear, inhaling deeply to calm the adrenaline from his act of rebellion. There's a small click from the other end, and he almost stops breathing altogether.

Tucker doesn't bother to check the caller ID. “Hey?”

Wash smiles, and it's genuine. "Hi." He says, and it comes out shy and quiet, not at all like he expected.

Tucker can’t help the grin cracking across his face. “Need a ride?”

Wash shrugs. “Can't go home.” He states, listing off his current address as a way of answer to Tucker's question.

“Be right there.”  Tucker hangs up and puts on shoes.  Then heads downstairs and peels out of the garage like its on its on fire.

Wash takes a deep breath and then lets it go, holding the phone next to his ear for a few seconds longer than strictly necessary. His lips curve slightly at the corners, and his heart feels lighter than it has in months as he takes three steps to the street corner and waits. Tucker screeches to a stop on the corner and is momentarily stunned by how bloody hot Wash looks when's he's smiling.  He flings open the door “Where to?” Wash grins as he climbs into the passenger seat. “Surprise me.”

Tuckers laughter rolls around the car and envelopes them both.  Wash is wearing a wide grin contrasting sharply with the bruises.  They tool around all over the place, stopping at the park to try and bean pigeons with rocks (and failing hard) the mall where Wash can't hold in snickers at Tucker's numerous attempts to pick up girls  and Pizza Hut (because why not). Tucker's ribs are sore. They travel all over the city and all at once Wash stops thinking about his abusive boyfriend and feels alive for a while. It's beautiful and it's perfect and he can't get enough, but he's not sure whether he's talking about their adventures or about Tucker himself.

Tucker stops the car at the beach after a while. It's almost dark now, so no chicks in bikinis but it's still one of his favourite places on earth. They walk down to wards the water, waves lapping at the sand. Tucker cups a handful of seawater and hurls it at Wash.  They splash around like idiots for close to an hour, and Tucker can't help but grin to himself at the look on Wash's face when he strips his shirt off to use as a weapon.

The beach is enchanting in the dim light of the setting sun, last rays of light bouncing off the water to create pinpoints of white against the dark of the sea. Tucker smirks at Wash as they wade in to their knees, taking a moment to splash water all across his face. He responds with laughter and a muffled “Tucker, no.” to which the response is “Tucker yes.” Wash is laughing so hard it hurts but it's the kind of hurt that he craves. It's a pain that's wonderful and he wishes he could stay there forever, soaked and breathing hard while staring into Tucker's eyes, which almost glow in the night. Tucker gives a screech of laughter and takes advantage of Wash's momentary stillness to dunk Wash's head underwater 

“Say uncle!”

“Never!”

Wash bursts into insane laughter again, desperately fending off Tucker's attempts to push him below the surface again. He almost glad there's no one around to here him as he repeats Tucker's name over and over again, tone light and breathless. He needs this, he realizes as they continue to joke nonsensically until Wash can't even keep track of the time anymore. He needs this like the air he needs to breathe because he hasn't been happy for so long. He doesn't want to go back.

Finally, they half drag each other back up the beach, and collapse on the sand. They lay there breathing hard and staring up at moonless sky.  Until Tucker breaks the silence. “Wash?”

“Yeah?”

“Who are you?” Wash's features crease in confusion and concern. “What?” He asks, nervous edge to his voice. Tucker props himself up on one elbow, “Well, I feel like I've known you forever, but really I only met you on Friday.” He grins “So tell me about you.”

Wash's mind goes blank, and as he stares at Tucker he comes to the horrifying realization that he can't actually remember defining himself as anything other than black and blue and mistakes. “I don't know.” He says quietly. Then, “What do you want to know?”

Tucker smile doesn't falter, and doesn't need to think “Tell me something simple.” He suggests “What's your favourite colour? What time of day is best to you? What's your ultimate comfort food?”

“Grey.” Wash replies to the first question easily. “I'm guessing yours is turquoise.” He adds as an afterthought before taking a moment to consider the next. “I like dawn. Sunrises always feel like new beginnings, and it's refreshing to me to see so many things start to come alive.” A pause. “I don't know about the food thing, I've never really thought about it.” He turns to face Tucker. “How about you?”

“Well turquoise, obviously.” Tucker says a hint of laughter colours his voice “Night, because then I'm either partying, making out, or sleeping.” Wash rolls his eyes as Tucker continues “And probably waffles.” 

Silence.

“Definitely waffles.” Wash chuckles. “I'll remember that, so if you're ever upset I can take you to IHOP.”

Tucker scoffs at him “I can cook way better than IHOP.” 

“Sure." Wash rolls his eyes and Tucker sits up, mock offended “I will be proven right after you try them tomorrow.” 

Wash laughs again “You're on.” They lapse back into quiet as both realize what Tucker's indirectly saying: that Wash is not going back to his house tonight.  Neither of them says they're glad.

Wash sighs, raising himself to a standing position. He takes a moment to brush the sand off his clothes before reaching out a hand to help Tucker up, which is taken without hesitation. “It's late.” He says, almost regretfully, looking down at the same green eyes that have somehow become familiar. “We should get going.” Tucker nods and they walk slowly back towards the jeep and playfully bumps his shoulder against Wash's. He grabs his keys, cranks the music and they race towards home singing along at the tops of their lungs. Wash can tell that Tucker's trying to make his singing obnoxious, loud and pitchy and he grins all the while. It's stupid and immature and he can't help but join in.

He doesn't question it when the building they pull up in front of is not his own. In a way, he's grateful.

It's nearly midnight when Tucker chucks a blanket towards Wash's head and motions towards the couch. "Sleep well." He heads towards his bedroom, giving Wash a glimpse of teal walls. He purposely leaves the lamp by the couch on.  There's no real reason, just a feeling he has.

Wash catches the blanket before it hits him, smiling just slightly. “You too.” He whispers even after Tucker's left, taking a second to look around the room. His turquoise favouritism is definitely expressed here, little splashes of colour thrown around the room. Tucker left the light on, making Wash sigh with relief. He didn't want to have to explain his fear of the dark, or worse, freak out in the event that he's left with it. He curls up the couch, which is surprisingly comfortable, feeling strangely at ease. He has to remind himself that he doesn't really know Tucker, but even then there are no effects of anxiety at all.

He falls asleep within an hour, with a smile on his face.

Tucker wakes up sometime around o'dark thirty, gets up and pads into the kitchen for a drink. On the way he passes by the living room and feels oddly gratified at the peace on Wash's face.

 

Tucker gets up at 9:00, which is early for him. And checks on Wash, still asleep and snoring faintly. Huh. He really didn't seem the sleep-late type. 

Tucker heads for the kitchen and grabs the stuff for waffles, time to win a bet.

Wash wakes up to the smell of fresh food around 10:30, and holy shit, he's going to lose a bet. Tucker laughs at the sight of Wash's face when he sees the mountain of food piled on the small table. “You're going down.”

Wash shakes his head. “Dammit.” He mutters. “Just so I know for when I lose, what do I owe you?”

Wash looks like he's expecting a joke, Tucker doesn't like to squash his smile but he's nothing if not blunt. “Tell me what's going on.”

Wash freezes, going absolutely silent. His stillness coats the room with tension so thick you couldn't cut it with a knife, expression immediately going dark. Then he breaks the trance, chuckling artificially. “Okay, funny. What do you really want?”

Tucker groans inwardly at the return of the terrified expression on Wash's face. I'll find out somehow Tucker tells himself. He forces a laugh, proud of how real it sounds. “I want math homework done for a week!” He grins, feeling the tension in the room begin to disperse.

All the astriction in Wash's shoulders dissipates, leaving him shaky but relieved. “Done.” He replies with ease, shrugging the fear off of his back and taking a seat at the table.

As expected Wash loses the bet. 

Almost immediately, though, the awkwardness returns. They both know can't stay here forever, however much they both want that. Wash clears his throat, breaking the silence as he stands. “So,” He starts, pausing to formulate a sentence that doesn't sound weird. "Thank you for breakfast and all…" Dammit, Wash, pull yourself together. “I think I have to go now…”  

Tucker searches Wash's face, “Yeah.” He agrees finally. “I guess so.”  

But it's with a heavy heart that they head for the car.

The ride is quieter than last time, a little more morbid. Wash desperately hangs on to the moment, counting the inevitable seconds until he has to face his problems. They get closer and closer until Wash spots a familiar figure in front of the building from about a block away.  “Stop the car.” He commands, aggressive tone leaving no room for argument.

Tucker can feel something about Wash change in a moment and obediently rolls to a stop. However, after parking the jeep around he scuttles back into the shadows. He can't let Wash know he's there. But there's no way in hell he's leaving him alone.

Wash exits the car without speaking, footsteps heavy against the pavement. He doesn't look back to make sure Tucker's okay, because now the figures noticed him and is waiting with a blank expression on his face. Wash's heart drops, adrenaline pounding through his veins as he comes to a halt in front of the taller man.

“David.” The name rolls off Epsilon's tongue like cyanide, a poison driven straight into Wash's being.

“Yes?” He replies, curt and short and void of emotion.

Epsilon curls his fingers around Wash's chin, yanking his face upwards so they look eye to eye. “Where the fuck is my car?” He demands, dark and dangerous and riddled with promises that can be nothing but threats.

“I don't know.” Wash says blankly, numb feeling encasing his body. A low, animalistic growl escapes Epsilon's throat. “Bullshit.” He mutters, taking Wash by the bicep and dragging him forwards, into the building.

Wash doesn't fight, just hangs his head as he's taken again into the realm of his nightmares.

Tucker hates what he's hearing. And then this asshole comes swaggering over like he owns the damn world and Wash along with it. 

Tucker follows the pair into the building. He's getting to damn bottom of this right now.  Luckily they don't see him slip inside apartment 385 just after they do.

As soon as the door closes behind them, Wash is shoved violently against the inside wall. His breath catches, and he finds a spot on the floor to look at so his fear doesn't show. “I'm gonna ask you one more time, and if you don't me an honest answer, I will tear the truth from your lips whether you want me to or not.” Epsilon's features are twisted in an angry snarl. “Where. The. Fuck. Is. My. Car?”

Wash swallows. “I-I don't know.” He says, choking on the overwhelming smell of Epsilon’s cologne.

Epsilon grins, a sickening light in his eyes. “Wrong answer.” He whispers, and his hand finds the switchblade he keeps in his back pocket before reaching up to drag it across Wash's face in one fluid motion. Blood pours from the spot where blade meets skin, already discoloured from the bruising. Wash holds back a cry, but tears still fall down his cheeks.

Tucker sees red. Rage starts boiling over in his stomach and filling his head, making his limbs hum with fury. He doesn't think _'_ _oh shit he has knife’_ he doesn't think _‘I'm gonna fuckin die’_ all he thinks is _‘Wash’_. 

Tucker takes a deep breath and steps away from the wall, “Hey, you.” he addresses Wash's tormenter. The surprise on the dudes face is priceless. Tucker takes a step forwards and draws himself to his full (though not necessarily tall) height. “Leave him the fuck alone.”

Panic rises in Wash's throat, choking his speech. He calls out Tucker's name, knees going weak. He feels queasy and can see Epsilon getting angrier and angrier. He sobs openly, shaking his head slowly as he meets Tucker's green eyes. “Tucker, no.” He whispers, begging him silently to run because he knows Epsilon won't kill him, but he might go for the fatal shot on Tucker. “Please.”

Epsilon is momentarily distracted by the fact that a black dude just jack in the boxed out of his kitchen. Tucker uses the opportunity to simultaneously hit _‘call’_ on the predialed number on his phone and to look at Wash to mouth "Tucker yes.” That's when the blows start, raining fast and furious. Epsilon clearly knows what the fuck he's doing but the adrenaline coursing Tucker's veins is letting match the other hit for hit. The knife blade flashes. Tucker is dimly aware of Wash looking on in horrified silence. Sharp pain explodes through Tucker's right shoulder, his knee flies up instinctively and the action is rewarded with a grunt of pain. Tucker's just trying to keep this prick’s attention on him while praying fervently that the recipient of the call will be here soon. 

Suddenly, there's a sound of splintering wood and the door goes flying off its hinges under the pressure of a black and silver studded combat boot. Tucker almost smiles as Epsilon starts at the low growling voice belonging to the owner of said shoes. Tucker has never been so grateful to see Tex's scowling face before. 

In an instant she puts herself between Tucker and Epsilon muttering “Get Wash out of here.” and then louder “Let me handle this piece of shit.” The contempt in her voice makes Tucker really glad he's not Epsilon right now.  As Tucker turns to Wash, he notes the confident smile on Epsilon’s face and knows that yet another guy has made the deadly mistake of underestimating Texas. Tucker doesn't have one ounce of pity for him.

Wash feels Tucker's hands brush his wrist and then fingers intertwined with his own, leading him away from the scene. He follows dutifully out of the apartment, not once looking back to see the fight unfold. Once into the hallway, he pulls his arm back, resting his forearm against the wall for support when his body fails him. He looks up at Tucker with fearful eyes, slowly lifting his own hand away from where he'd been covering the wound, watching as blood begins to seep through the hole in his abdomen.

Tucker feels his breath lodges in his throat. How could he have not seen that?  Tucker is a damn good actor when he wants to be, though, and puts on an appearance of calm.  “It'll be alright.” He says slowly, “But you may need an actual Doctor for this one.” Tucker quickly tears a strip off his T-shirt with shaking fingers. 

Don't think, just act.

Wash presses the make shift pad to the puncture it's alarming how fast the teal turns to crimson.  Wash is going really pale. Tucker gently sits him down against the wall. 

Don't think about the dangers of stab wounds to that area. 

Tucker pulls Wash's phone out of his pocket and dials 911. 

Don't think about how you could have prevented this. 

Tucker tries and fails to shut his brain off as he gives the address. He hangs up and then slides down the wall next to Wash.  Wash parts his lips slightly as if to speak “No.” Tucker murmurs “Rest now.”  He takes the blood soaked piece of shirt from Wash's limp fingers and presses it down himself “You'll be okay.” 

Wash isn't crying anymore but silent tears keep coursing over his face. Tucker softly sweeps the moisture from Wash's features and this time he doesn't flinch away. 

Don't think. Don't think at all. 

Wash mumbles something incoherent and then slumps unconscious against Tucker's shoulder.  Don't think about how now he smells like blood and death instead of lemons and copper. 

Don’t.


	2. Stitches and Scars

After Wash passes out everything happens in a blur. 

The ambulance and the cops come screaming up to the building and Wash disappears into the back of the ambulance, leaving Tucker clutching a bloody rag and choking back sobs.  Cops escort Epsilon to the police station. Tucker takes small satisfaction in the fact that the guy looks like he's been through a meat grinder. Tex has a long cut splitting her collarbone but looks otherwise unharmed.  She gives curt responses to the officers questions, but when they try to talk to Tucker she growls. “Can't you fucking see he can't do this right now?" Tucker just sits there trying to get controls of himself while the paramedics examine him; physically, he's fine. Sore and bruised with a severely wrenched shoulder, but nothing rest and ice won't fix. 

Tex drives him home without a word.  As Tex leaves the apartment she turns back towards Tucker with an expression that's trying to sympathetic but there's real concern in her voice “He'll be okay.” And she's gone. 

Tucker slowly changes clothes, leaving the bloody ones in a heap on the floor. He swallows hard and then gingerly walks downstairs to his car.  He burns rubber towards the hospital.  This time he's in a hurry.

 

Tucker is going to kill someone. 

They won't let him see Wash. 

The first day they made him leave. 

The second he heard Wash was semiconscious.

They made him leave. 

Today he's seeing Wash. Wether they want to let him or not. 

 

Wash's entire body feels numb, like he's floating in empty space. Gravity doesn't seem to work anymore so he's lost in the clouds, desperately trying to connect the pieces to figure out what's wrong. To understand why all he feel is pain in his heart and an echo of something sharp through the flesh of his stomach. Oh, yeah, he got stabbed. That's right. It comes to back to him in scattered fragments, all the split second images out of order. He sees Tucker look at him and he also sees Epsilon plunge the knife into his abdomen and they're together so they must have occurred at the same time. He feels his hand over the wound and can hear himself- _don't show weakness, don't show weakness_ -chanting the same phrases over and over in his head. He sees single shots of Tucker's eyes and face through his own tears, and suddenly the horrible guilt is back because the only reason shit went down was because of him.

His breath catches and he opens his eyes.

Wash wakes up to bright lights and white walls, the light whir of machinery filling his brain with static. He's tries to sit up, but only gets halfway, supporting himself with one elbow under his shoulder. He pulls on the other one with it's attached to several different devices, IV disappearing under his skin. He blinks rapidly, attempting to clear the fog from his brain.

Is he in a hospital?

Holy shit, he's in a hospital.

Wash fights with his brain but can't seem to connect being here with being in that building, can't seem to transferring from that image of Tucker's eyes, wide with barely concealed horror. His free hand traces down the skin on his chest, breath catching when he reaches the bandages across his stomach. He runs his fingers along the cut on his cheek, and that's covered too. How long has he been here? Wash looks around the room but it's empty, emptier than he thinks a hospital should be. He pulls himself fully into a sitting position, curling an arm around his stomach when a sharp pain rewards the action. His teeth dig into his lower lip, anxiety gathering in his mind for reasons he can't quite formulate.

He's full of questions but doesn't have any answers.

 

Tucker sits there perfectly still until he can slip into private ward 223. 

Wash is sitting there all crumpled up in a hospital bed.  Tucker pinches himself. Hard. Stay calm. 

Wash's face changes dramatically upon seeing him.  Tucker can't describe his relief. He knew Wash was alive, but he had to see for himself.  Wash looks like shit, honestly, but a smile begins to spread across Tucker's face that he's here, he's okay. 

“Did you get hit by a fuckin car?”

Wash blinks, then laughs, not caring that it hurts. Then he stops, turning to Tucker with a grim expression. “Yes.” He retaliates in total deadpan, somehow managing to keep a straight face. Tucker laughs out loud and sits on the edge of Wash's bed. 

They just look at each other and laugh for probably a full ten minutes until Tucker turns serious. “Really, how are you?” Wash shrugs, then winces at the motion. “Sore.” He admits, looking down to avoid Tucker's eyes.

Tucker can't keep the emotion from his voice “I'm so goddamned sorry, Washington.” he stares down at his hands. 

Useless. 

A disbelieving noise escapes Wash's lips. “Are you fucking kidding me?” He demands, before sighing defeatedly. “Don't be sorry. Hell, I should be thanking you.”

Tucker looks back to Wash, surprised by the flash of anger. “I should've done something sooner, I shouldn't have waited and let him cut you up like that.”

Wash shakes his head, running his hand through his hair. “You didn't know.” He states, meeting Tucker's emerald eyes with a look that is nothing but regret. “I was letting it happen to myself.”

Tucker can feel something inside himself shrivel like paper consumed by flame.  For once words fail him and just sits there, too numb for tears.  _Get it together, it's not like you got hurt. Wash's problems are more important. Stop feeling sorry for yourself._  

Tucker manages a smile. “I saw the guy when Tex was done with him.” He is rewarded with the ghost of a smile from Wash. “He looked like he got put in a blender.” 

Wash stops smiling. 

“Wash?”

Wash bites down hard on his lip, clenching his fist by his side. “It's nothing.” He says, steel coating the words.

Tucker looks him straight in eyes. “No, it's not.”

Wash is torn between anger and tears but he so badly doesn't want to cry anymore. “What the fuck did you expect, _Lavernius?_  It's not like I can go through all of this shit,” He waves his hand around a few times to represent his point. “And come out of it and be fucking _okay_ with him getting hurt.”

Tucker closes his eyes for an instant to compose himself but cringes at how frozen he sounds. “I didn't expect you to be fine with it.” Clipped, frigid. “I am so sorry for wanting you stay alive, David.”

Wash feels like he really is dying inside. “Don't call me that.” He whispers, just because he needs to say it out loud.

Tucker is not good at staying icy cool, he's more like a wildfire.  “I'll call you whatever I want.”

Wash leans slightly away, hating himself for the fear that rises with Tucker's tone. He presses his elbow to his side, a protective shield from the wound that's, even now, eating away at him from the inside. "I want you to leave." He says, limbs shaking with his voice.

“Can’t.”

Wash is desperately trying to hold himself together. “Why not?”

“Tex has my car.” Tucker half smiles. “Bus doesn't come until 4.”

Wash blinks the tears from his eyes, unable to speak. He wants everything to be okay but at the same time he fucked up and doesn't know how he'll ever get out of it.

Tucker impulsively grabs Wash's hand and laces their fingers together.  Wash flinches sharply but then relaxes, and for a moment, the two of them linked and breathing in tandem, it almost seems like it’ll be alright.

Wash is still for second, then leans over to rest his head against Tucker's shoulder, breathing in his essence like it's all that's left. He's not sure if what he's doing is forgiveness, but he decides that he'd be okay if it was.

Eventually Tucker moves away. “You should lie down.”

Wash laughs. “I think I can hold myself up, Tucker.”

Tucker rolls his eyes. “You got fuckin stabbed, now lie your ass down.” He pushes Wash gently back. Wash complies, but he can't help the way his breath catches when Tucker's skin meets his, and he's not sure whether the emotion it comes from is positive or negative.

Tucker can tell Wash is trying to hold the conversation but after about 7 minutes he's asleep. 

Wash drifts into unconsciousness with mixed feelings and an image of Tucker's face imprinted behind his eyes. Tucker just sits there, watching him. He has the weird urge to lay down and sleep with him. He quickly squashes it and instead just disentangles their fingers and leaves the room.

 

* * *

 

 

The seconds tick by, and Wash stares at the ceiling.

Well, they don’t _'tick'_ necessarily, because the clock on the wall opposite him is stuck hopelessly on 1:15. Once every hour, a nurse comes in to check on him, and each instance that he asks for the time they tell him an hour has passed. He's been cleared for visitors since that morning, but still no one has come to see him. Not gonna lie, even in a family like his, that hurts.

The seconds tick metaphorically by, and Wash traces patterns across the ceiling with his eyes.

There are no windows. It's either really fucking dark or really fucking bright; there's no in between. He's tried to rip the IV out of his arm several times, but all he got for it was a lecture and something chemical to "cheer him up".

Because that's always a wonderful idea.

He's in a hospital. The realization never gets old, especially when hospitals always seem to mean pain and death.

_Stitches and scars, Wash. You know a lot about those._

 

Tucker tries to occupy himself until visiting hours start. His apartment has never been this organized.

Eventually he walks over to Tex's to get his car and heads for the hospital the thought of seeing Wash brings a grin to his face. Tucker almost bounces through Wash's door, a warm surge courses towards his stomach at the way Wash's face brightens at his appearance. 

“Hey, feel less shitty?” That's really not what Tucker means to say. He means _‘I miss you’_ , he means _‘forgive me?’_ , He means _‘I’m sorry’_ , he means _‘you look amazing’_.

But feeling shitty will have to do.

Wash smiles, rolling his eyes. “Yeah.” He says, not sure whether or not it's the truth. He shifts to the side a little, making room for Tucker to sit beside him. “How've you been?” He asks, somehow finding the courage to meet Tucker's eyes with an unwavering expression.

Tucker sits down carefully trying not to jar the bed. “I'm surviving.” He smiles brightly. 

_(Dont’thinkaboutjunior)_

He looks at all the tubes and wires stuck to Wash like he's a broken robot, “Damn, son.” he gestures to the various equipment “When the fuck are out of here?” That's really not what he means either. He means _‘I wish you were out of here’_ , he means _‘you can stay with me’_ , he means _‘I hate seeing you like this’_ , he means _‘I never want to leave’_.

Wash shrugs. “I don't know.” A shadow of a smile is still pasted over his features. “Doctors won't tell me anything for sure. I think they're pissed at me 'cause I tried to pull the wires out like, five times today.” He admits, twisting his wrist to show off the marks. “I look like I’m on heroin.”

Tucker hates when Wash isn't happy so he shoves his own problems into a locked room in his mind and slams the door. 

“Dude, you didn't get the fun of being high.” He puts on a blanked out expression “Passss the weeeed.”

Wash laughs, authentic for the first time that day. "What the fuck kind of voice is that?" He asks, shaking his head playfully.

Tucker beats down a snicker and gestures sloppily towards Wash. “Duuuude, havvee some.” he pauses a second then looks around wildly “Wait where's the floor…”

Wash covers his mouth to hide his stupid, high-pitched teenage laughter. "Is this-" He stops to take a deep breath before trying again. "Is this what drunk people are like?”

Tucker instantly switches personas. He's always been a damn good actor. 

He sits straight as a ruler and looks down at Wash imperiously. "How should I know?" He makes his tone as pious as possible “Getting drunk at this age is forbidden.” he sniffs loudly and puts his nose in the air.

Wash grins, then it falters, a split second memory of broken glass and dimly lit rooms flashing over his eyes before it clears. “Of course.” He continues, picking up right where he left off. “You wouldn't know _anything_ about that.”

Tucker skates over the flash of something in Wash's eyes. “Of course!” He adds "I'm far too busy with my perfect grades.” His really awful British accent starts to creep into his tone and lets it be because it starts to relight Wash's eyes.

Wash raises an eyebrow. "Yes, I'm sure you're doing very well at school, what with all the mornings you spend copying Kaikaina's answers.”

Tucker breaks character to laugh. "It's not always Kaikaina.” 

Wash rolls his eyes. “Of course, I'm sure you've slept with a lot more women than that.”

Tucker snickers “Well I really wasn't sleeping.”

Wash presses his palm to his forehead. “Yeah, I figured that out.”

Tucker's about to come up with some awesome reply when two cops walk in. Tucker notes the way Wash starts trembling just slightly. Tucker reaches for his and squeezes it reassuringly before standing up. If Wash was slightly trembling before, it's nothing compared to the way he looks when the cops bring in who they were escorting.

"Hi." Epsilon whispers, head down and staring at his hands. He shifts nervously in the doorframe, and Wash is grateful that he doesn't have to look into his eyes. Wash's whole body trembles, but he doesn't say a word.

Tucker grinds his teeth and uses every ounce of his self control to not punch Epsilon’s stupid mug in.  He looks down at Wash and faces Epsilon, looking coolly into his eyes 

“Hey.”

Epsilon's head whips around, jumping as if he'd been burned. "What are _you_ doing here?”

Tucker glares. "None of your business.” His tone is shrivelling, and Wash ducks behind him like a shield.

Wash can see Epsilon shaking, though whether or not it comes from anger he can't tell. He curls his fingers in Tucker's sleeve. "Don't." He murmurs, quiet enough that only Tucker can hear.

Tucker is about to tell this punk what's what but he takes a deep breath and listens to Wash. He sits down on the bed and links their fingers murmuring "Alright, but I'm not leaving.”

Wash takes a deep breath. "Okay." He says, but he pulls his hand away from Tucker’s. Tucker digs his nails into his palms and forces himself to stay quiet as Epsilon takes a step forward.

Wash clenches his fist by his side, forcing his head up to meet Epsilon's eyes. The tension in the room grows with the silence, until it's so thick Wash feels like he's suffocating.

It's Epsilon who breaks the silence, but at the same time he seems to make the astriction worse.

"I'm sorry.”

Tucker really really almost punches him he doesn't but he can't stop himself from muttering _“Shutthefuckup.”_

Wash's eyes burn a hole through the floor. He hates this, all the fighting. "Stop." he mutters, more for himself than anyone else.

Wash's voice is enough to lapse Tucker into silence.

Epsilon shuffles across the room, taking a seat on Wash's unoccupied side. Quiet immerses the room for a moment, then Epsilon reaches down to trace his fingers along Wash's palm.

Wash lets him. He hates himself for it, but he lets him.

Tucker swallows hard trying to reconcile the superimposed images of Epsilon and Wash, and goddamn if they don't look cute as fuck together. Wash inhales sharply, and turns to face Tucker, brushing his fingers across his shoulder to get his attention. "You can go." He whispers, but it's more of a request than an option.

Tucker forces himself to stay still “No.”

Wash tenses, pulling himself higher into a sitting position. "I think," He replies forcefully. "That would be best.”

Tucker sighs in defeat. “Fine.” His tone is clipped and he looks straight at the wall as he leaves. 

Just outside the room, in a long empty hallway. He screams silently and takes a gulp of icy medicine scented air. Fuck. 

Tucker wants to leave, he wants to tear out of the parking lot with music jacked up way too loud, he wants to find a grease spattered bar and drink himself into oblivion, he wants to make out with someone who doesn't know his name and grind against unfamiliar bodies. 

But he doesn't. 

Instead, Tucker sits down against the thin wall and listens, willing himself not to be sick.

 

Wash watches Tucker leave with lead in his heart and regret on the tip of his tongue, but he doesn't dare speak until he hears Epsilon's soft voice.

"I'm sorry."

Anger flashes across Wash's mind but it's quickly overcome by defeat. "It's okay." He murmurs, pulling his knees to his chest in a way that shows it's not. He turns his gaze upwards, blinking away tears. "I just need time."

Epsilon nods, teeth digging into his lower lip. "Do you want me to leave?"

Wash leans over to rest his head against Epsilon's shoulder, numb with the nostalgia that follows the action. "Not yet."

Epsilon's voice wavers when he speaks. “Okay.”

 

Tucker bites his lip hard enough to taste blood but he doesn't notice the rusty tang. He doesn't notice the icy concrete wall pressing his spine or the chill seeping through his clothes. 

Goddamn it. God fucking damn it.

 

The peace lasts for all of two minutes, before the skin on Wash's cheek begins to burn. He sits up straight, brushes his hands over his shirt like he expects there to be dust, and says simultaneously the most satisfying and the most painful thing he's ever spoken.

"Get out.”

 

Tucker hates the sadness in Wash's voice but feels a burst of happiness that he made that scumbag leave. Tucker's content for maybe 10 seconds before quiet, heart wrenching sobs come filtering through the wall.

 

Wash doesn't watch Epsilon leave. Holds himself together for just as long as it takes for the footsteps to fade away down the hall. Then he buries his face in his knees and lets himself break down. He cries, partly out of pain, partly out of loss, and partly because he doesn't feel at all.

He doesn't need to look up when the door opens; he knows who it is. All he can bring himself to do is find the find the courage to say “I'm sorry.”

Tucker sits next to him, the mattress creaking slightly "No apologies.” he orders gently “There's no reason for them.”

Wash bites down on his lip to keep from speaking, just drags a palm across his cheeks before meeting Tucker's green eyes. The spiral of emotions hiding behind them makes his breath hitch, but he finds himself too captivated to look away.

Wash actually meets Tucker eyes for once so he's careful to make them placid, calm as still water but the way Wash is staring boldly back at him makes Tucker think he might not have hidden his feelings quickly enough.

Wash moves slowly, as if approaching a wild animal, reaching out to trail his hand down Tucker's cheek, resting it against his neck. He's shaking, and something flutters in his stomach, but he holds himself there with a false confidence, as if it's totally normal.

Tucker reminds himself to breath without gasping at the touch of delicate fingers coming to rest in the hollow of his throat. Wash's hand is shivering slightly and Tucker quickly captures the icy palm in both his warm ones, Tucker has to remember that this should be weird because it's so far from it.

Wash fights against his racing heart, forcibly relaxing his shoulders until he's not sure what's real and what's fake anymore. He looks down, trying to find anything else to focus on, but his eyes keep getting drawn to all the wrong places.

_What the fuck, Wash?_

Tucker can see Wash fuckin checking him out making his stomach flutter and forcing him to fight down a strange urge to laugh or maybe cry. He does neither instead he just slings and arm over Wash's shoulder and pulls him against his side, Wash doesn't flinch away anymore this time he leans heavily into Tucker side and relaxes completely.

Tucker's body is warm against Wash's side, so different from everything he knows. Epsilon was always somewhere in the extremes, burning hot or ice cold, so he'd always be fated to get burned. But Tucker's presence is gentle and soothing and he doesn't need to be drawn in by false charm or woven words to feel something real.

He should be scared, nervous, _something_. But all he feels is safe.

After a minute of quiet during which Wash stops trembling and starts breathing normally, Tucker shatters the silence “Hey, Wash.” 

The effect of speaking is instantaneous and somewhat hilarious. Wash acts he's being woken from a trance sitting up straight and pulling away from Tucker while his eyes widen like a cartoon characters.

Wash breathes out an awkward laugh, pressing his palm to the back of his neck and digging his nails into the smooth skin. He lets the sharp sting anchor him, keeping him in the reality that he belongs in instead of the half-memory state in which his mind has a bad habit of lingering. "Sorry about that." His speech is fast and condensed and he suddenly feels a hell of a lot more claustrophobic than he was just moments before.

Tucker shifts away from Wash, giving him his space, as much as he hates to do it. "Didn't I say no apologies?" He half scolds but he smiles. "It was my fault anyway.”

Wash winces, a spire of regret burrowing through his chest. He hates himself for not being able to find a response, just starts to speak and then stops, tension running through his muscles in thick cords. He curses life for making him a fucking idiot, then just turns to Tucker and smiles as if that's some sort of recompense.

Tucker looks straight at him and winks playfully as he stands up. "Will you let me come back tomorrow?”

Wash fights with his words again, this time holding them back instead of searching. He has a brief thought of _are you kidding me?_ before he just says “Yes."

“Sweet.” Tucker grins and saunters out of Wash's room in search of the hot nurse on the 3rd floor. Although after seeing Wash she really doesn't seem that great anymore.

 

Wash sighs, laying back down so he can turn his gaze to the ceiling. He folds his hands over his torso, and just breathes, deep and slow and easy. He closes his eyes and smiles, choosing the mental images that come to mind instead of the stark white of the walls around him.

That means something, surely it does, but he doesn't really care enough to figure it out.

 

* * *

 

 

Tucker is woken by knocking. Loud goddamned knocking. He sits up yawning, it's what? Maybe 10AM? Does no one have any respect for the very hungover? 

Tucker stumbles out of bed and looks around for clothes, he really considers not putting pants on at all but decides not to reward whoever's fuckin knocking at 10am. 

He runs his fingers through his dreads and yanks open the door. “What the fu-” Tucker is suddenly conscious that although he is wearing pants he doesn't exactly have on a shirt. “Hey, Wash.”

Wash raises his eyebrows, carefully keeping his eyes on Tucker's face. "Hi." He replies, wondering what the fuck Tucker was doing to be this unorganized at 10 in the morning. "I need a place to stay." Well, he feels a hell of a lot less nervous now.

“Oh, yeah.” Tucker laughs. "My couch is your couch.” He turns into the apartment and then whirls around. "But do you have to be so loud?" He grins "It's 10 motherfuckin AM.”

Wash shakes his head in defeat and disappointment. "Yes, Tucker, explain to me why one would attempt to be quiet at 'ten motherfuckin AM’?"

“C’mon.” Tucker's voice is mock pleading "A little consideration for the really, really, hungover?”

"Oh?" Wash moves to lean one shoulder against the doorframe. "Thought it was illegal to get drunk at this age.”

Tucker just winks at him and puts a finger up to Wash's lips “Shhhhh.”

Wash rolls his eyes, smirking slightly. "Go get some rest, idiot." His tone is light and playful, and he bumps his shoulder against Tucker's as he enters the building, pushing the door shut behind him.

“Nah." Tucker waves his words away like gnats. "I'm up now.”

Wash shrugs. "Suit yourself.”

Tucker smiles wolfishly. "I always do.”

He doesn't give Wash the time to even begin to understand the layers of double entendre behind that statement before he disappears into his bedroom in search of a shirt.

 

Wash pauses, opens his mouth to speak, decides against it, and just shakes his head, small smile still plastered across his face. He puts his weight on his left foot, bracing himself against the kitchen counter as he listens to the destructive sounds and the muffled curses that come from Tucker's room.

Tucker emerges from the bottomless pit in a aqua T-shirt and with a wide grin. “Victory." 

He grins even bigger at the disgust on Wash's face as he looks around the apartment.

Wash shoots Tucker an incredulous look. "How do you live like this?" He asks, disbelieved look plastered across his face. "There's shit all over the floor.”

Tucker snickers and purposely kicks some of the shit around on his way to the kitchen.

Wash sighs, dissapointed. "Not gonna lie," He states, in a flat voice. "I'd expected better from you.”

“Well, then.” Tucker tries to keep the fact that he's only half joking out of his voice. "This should teach not to expect jack shit from me or you'll be disappointed.” 

_(Don’tthinkaboutJunior)_

Wash sees something flicker in Tucker's expression, but he knows better than to address it. "Good advice." He replies, trying not to show his concern for fear it might upset the other man.

Fuck.

Wash's reply is way too careful way too delicately said for a two word phrase. Tucker would love to say his concern is unfounded but.... It's really not. Not at all. 

Whatever. 

Tucker reminds himself that his problems are microscopic and unimportant, especially in comparison with those of the lanky figure next to him. 

But for once Tucker can't think of a thing to say.

Wash smiles, tentatively, offering Tucker the silent _it's okay_ when he doesn't respond.

Tucker quickly shakes off whatever dark thoughts he'd rather stay the hell away from to instead slap on a half smile and ask "So the wounds weren't fatal then?”

Wash tenses for a second, the laughs. "No, they were absolutely fatal." He says, somehow with a straight face. "I'm actually dead and this is just the ghost of my essence.”

“Aw, shit dude.” Tucker fakes confusion. "Ghosts?" He sighs dramatically. “I thought I didn't smoke any weed today.”

Wash eyes widen, but he quickly reels himself back in. "You never know." He grins. "I probably have supernatural powers over your drug life, too.”

“Shit." Tucker laughs "Do I have to make a salt ring or something?" He wiggles his fingers in Wash's direction. "Begone foul beast.”

Wash raises an eyebrow. "You're gonna have to do better than that." He states, challenge heavy in his voice. "At least get some holy water or something.”

Tucker looks around. "Will diet coke do?”

Wash grins. “No, but it might make the ghost happier so he doesn’t kill you in your sleep.”

"In that case.” Tucker rummages in the fridge. “Here." He tosses the aluminum can towards Wash and grabs another for himself. "Drink up.”

“Thanks.” Wash replies, struggling to keep liquid from fizzing over the edge as he pops the tab. Wash spends about thirty seconds looking for some way to fill the space that's currently being occupied by the void of silence, but comes up empty handed. He's considering just asking random-ass questions because he has nothing better to do, when a sharp ringing echoes across the room. Wash jumps about four feet in the air, fumbling to pull his phone from his pocket.

He takes one look at the caller ID and punches the reject button with an necessary amount of force before slamming the device face down on the counter, trying to avoid staring anywhere but the floor.

Tucker looks mildly over at the phone "Don't break my counter there, Hulk.”

Wash winces. "Sorry." He answers, tensing as the ringer blares through the speakers again. "Sorry." He whispers, quieter.

Tucker relaxes his shoulders and tries to send calm vibes. "It's okay man.”  He smiles warmly "Am I allowed to ask who you're avoiding like the plague?”

Wash struggles with a response. He's tempted to just say no, but for some reason he feels the need to explain everything. "My mother." He decides, leaving it at that.

Tucker nods as the phone starts shrilling away again "As much as I hate to state the obvious,” Tucker tries to read Wash's expression. "You might want to answer that.”

Wash sighs. "Want is not the right word for it." He mutters, hitting 'accept' and pressing the phone to his ear, only to wince and move it away as his mother's loud voice clicks over the other end.

Tucker cringes slightly at the explosion of sound from the speaker and cringes a lot at how Wash's form crumples like newspaper in a campfire. Tucker silently pushes him into a sitting position on the couch and sits next to him. He scans a magazine without reading.

Wash takes a deep breath. "Hi mom." His voice is a little rough around the edges, but he's proud of how steady he can keep it. The line goes dead silent and Wash takes a second to mentally prepare himself for the shitstorm that's headed his way.

Tucker keeps his eyes pointedly on his PentHouse! magazine and feels a shiver skip across his shoulder blades at the torrent of emotion pouring off Wash.

Wash waits for what feels like centuries before his mother responds. "Are you ready to admit you were wrong?"

Wash flinches. “I...what?"

Tucker is itching to move to do something,anything. But he keeps his fingers locked on glossy pages, teeth sawing at his lower lip.

Wash's mother sighs through the phone. "Do you regret your life choices enough to come home?"

Wash tenses. "Mom, just because things with Epsilon went to shit doesn’t mean I’m straight.”

Tucker bristles at Wash's voice. If this conversation is going the direction he thinks it's going he’ll start screaming.

"Well, you obviously don't care about your family enough to make the right decision. Therefore we have nothing to discuss."

Wash cringes. "Mom, don't-" She cuts him off without hesitation. "And watch your language." The line goes dead with a soft _click._ Wash pulls the device away from his ear, staring at it with startled eyes.

Tucker curls and uncurls his toes in the carpet. His muscles are way too tense. Because honestly, people getting shit about not being straight pisses the hell out of him. And yeah he'll rib his friends a little about it but not seriously. Seriously is fucked up. He can remember how fuckin scared Simmons and Doc were at first and, and- shit fuck. 

Anger tends to make Tucker's thoughts a little less than coherent.

Wash places his phone face down on the coffee table in front of him, pulling his knees close to his chest. He tries so damn hard to look at it but his eyes keep getting drawn back there. "Sorry about that." He murmurs, knowing that Tucker will understand it's directed at him without having to change his position.

 _Deep breath Tucker. Calm the fuck down._ "Sorry for what?" Tucker rolls his eyes. "Being human?" That's better. A teasing note creeps into his tone. "Existing?" 

Wash laughs, but the sound is bitter and carries no humour. "I meant more on her behalf than on mine.”

Tucker sighs "I can only guess her side of that.” he turns towards Wash "But going on what I was hearing, I accept your apology.”

Wash tries to say something to explain away his family's ignorance but all he can come up with is “Thanks."

"Everyone has some shitty family stuff" Tucker says with a small shrug.  Tucker does not think about J- not going to think about it.

Wash can see something flicker in Tucker's eyes, but knows better than to question it. Tucker forces a smile and is about to make a dumb joke or something because it's depressing as fuck in here but he notices Wash staring off into space. “Hey," He knocks lightly on Wash's skull. "Earth to Wash.”

Wash blinks, pulling himself out of his thoughts. "Sorry." His speech is quicker than it needs to be. "Got a little lost there.”

“Yeah.” Tucker smiles for real. "Your mind seems like a pretty big place.” Wash returns the expression, albeit hesitantly. "Are you insinuating that I'm smart?”

"Well your grades point yes.” Tucker drops his grin and shakes his head in faux sadness "But everything else is no.”

Wash gasps, making a show of being overly offended. "And I thought we were friends.”

Tucker just shrugs. “Wellllllll.”

Wash reaches over to push against Tucker's shoulder with his palm. "Jackass." He mutters, in an attempt to hide his smile.

Tucker pushes him back laughing. “Bitch.”

Wash grins. "Look who's talking.”

"Your face won't be!" The look of absolute confusion on Wash's face is priceless and Tucker takes the opportunity to grab him in a headlock and proceed to scrub his fist into Wash's blond hair. "Nougie, bitch!”

Wash tries to defend himself through his laughter “Tucker, no.”

Tucker cackles. "Tucker hell yes.”

 

* * *

 

 

Wash paces back and forth across Tucker’s kitchen, phone held tight in his grip. He speaks more than he listens, which isn’t something he would normally attempt.

“Look, I don’t need a lawyer.” He cuts off the protests from the other end. “I’m not going to court.”

Tucker is awake enough by 11am to overhear the conversation through the thin wall of the kitchen. Tucker kicks his sheets off and runs a hand though his hair and yanks his teal striped pyjama pants back over his hips, entering the room as Wash hangs up the phone. 

"Why the fuck aren't you going the hell to court?”

Wash's entire body goes stiff. "None of your buisness." He replies, not caring how volatile he sounds.

“Yeah, you know what’s my damn business.” Wash is already pissed off so it seems pointless to stop now. "Look!" Tucker gestures to the hair thin scar on Wash's cheekbone, to the stab wound hidden in powder blue fabric "Maybe you're blind but I'm not.”

Wash looks him straight in the eyes, pouring all his vulnerability into his words. "You have to be blind if you want a chance at being happy." His voice drops. "You have to blind to be loved at all.”

“No." Tucker plants himself firmly in front of the blond. "Not real love you don’t." He really wishes he was better at words. "You only have to close your eyes when there's things you don't want to see.” He takes a half step forward "Real love makes you see clearly and you can go into real love with your eyes wide open.”

Wash laughs, but he feels like he's crying, and knows he sounds hysterical. "You're a fucking idiot for believing that. Maybe." He takes a deep breath. "Maybe that's what it's like for you. But I only have blindness to rely on." He closes his eyes, partly in symbolism and partly because he can't look at Tucker anymore. "No one wants to see me at all.”

"I want to see you.” Tucker's voice is small and it could never make a dent in Wash's armour but damn he hates this.

Wash stands there like a fucking idiot for at least sixty seconds. "Tucker..." He whispers it more than he says it, and he hates that he can't even talk through the breath that's frozen in his lungs. “Don't."

"Don't tell you the truth?" Tucker subtly rotates his arms so that the delicate flesh on his wrists is forward in submission.

Wash inhales sharply, blinking away tears. "I want to see you too." He murmurs, spins on his heel and walks away, head down and hands shoved into his pockets. He’s sure he means something else but he'd never say that out loud.

Tucker stands there until the door slamming jars him out of his stupor. “Bye." He whispers into the empty air.

 

Wash slams the door with more force than he thinks he needs to, and contemplates just collapsing right there on the pavement for a good long while before deciding he just needs a walk. His face burns but his blood runs cold, and he can't stop shivering. Or shaking. He can't tell the difference anymore.

 

Tucker is scared by how much he meant what he told Wash. Tucker usually doesn't mean things, he whispers false poetry across damp pillows against expectant ears in the dead of night and then leaves apologies scrawled in lipstick and feels no regret at dawn.  

Tucker shakes his head to clear the fog, fuckin Wash.

 

Wash feels like he's tearing himself in two. He kicks over a trash can on 40th, then spends twenty minutes beating himself up over it. He walks and walks and walks and his head doesn't clear. His feat just take him somewhere and he follows. Until he rounds a corner and stops dead, feeling panic start to build in his chest as he stares at the familiar blue paint and silver scratches.

 

Tucker drags his feet towards his room and pulls on a T-shirt and wrinkled jeans before wandering into the kitchen. It's unbelievable how quickly he's gotten used to having Wash around and the apartment feels empty and cold.

 

Wash caves and sits on the curb, pressing his palms to the wound on his stomach, amazed at how suddenly it hurts. Tears stream down his face, and he feels like the air is solidifying and he can't breathe. That fucking car. He closes his eyes and frantically tries to pick up the pieces _(Not your fault not your fault)_ before he's too shattered to be repaired.

 

Tucker wanders around a bit more before sitting down and wondering how it's possible to be so lost in such a familiar place.

He glances at his watch and notices that Wash has been gone over an hour. 

He's not a little kid. He's fine. He can look after himself. Don't be creepy. Why do you care? 

Fuck it.

Tucker grabs his phone and punches Wash's number in.

Wash breathes a sigh of relief when his phone starts ringing. He accepts the call without checking the ID and presses it to his ear. "Hey." He rasps, pulling the microphone away so his coughing doesn't reach the other end.

"Hi?" The embarrassment colouring Tucker's voice makes the greeting lilt up like a question. Dammit.

"Shit." Wash mutters. Then louder. “Hello."

“Hey, it's me.”  Silence.  He clarifies. "It's Tucker.”

"I know." Wash whispers, and can't find anything else to say.

Tucker hates talking on the phone. He hates text and he hates email. He hates not seeing a persons face because he can't judge their expression. He takes a chance though. "Need a ride?”

Wash glances over at the car beside him, and decides to experiment a little. "No, I think I can make my way back.”

“Alright." Tucker knows the relief is apparent in his voice but he really doesn't care "Call if you need.”  He hangs up before Wash can reply.

Wash smiles, staring at Tucker's name on the screen for longer than strictly necessary. Then he stands, turns, and starts his methodical search through the bushes along the road. He passes about twenty feet of sidewalk and is about to turn back when the glint of metal catches his eye. He takes the keys with careful hands, then slides the ring over his index finger and twirls the objects around in victory before climbing into the vehicle and clicking the ignition.

 

Tucker hangs out at his apartment for awhile before heading out towards the beach. He needs to not think for awhile.

 

By the time Wash gets back to Tucker's place, the other man has already left. It feels empty and alone, and Wash is too afraid of disrupting the peace to do something about the void of silence. He eventually just curls up on the couch with a book about talking cats.

 

Tucker leaves the shore about an hour later with 5 phone numbers and a slap print on his face. He heads inside humming to himself and notes the really nice car outside the building. Sweet. He enters the apartment silently and sneaks towards Wash, before jumping onto the arm of the couch. "BOO MOTHERFUCKER!" 

Wash jumps a foot and suddenly Tucker slips off the edge of the couch and before either of them can do anything Tucker ends up in Wash's lap.

Wash flinches at Tucker's close proximity, before becoming more worried about the flush that colours his cheeks than anything else. His hand twitches, feeling the need to do something about the situation, but in the end he doesn't move.

Tucker looks up at a very startled very red Wash. Tucker waves sheepishly up at him. "Hi?" It's silent for almost a full minute before Tucker bursts out laughing.

Wash is hesitant to let down his guard, but he finds himself laughing too, gently uncoiling the ball of fear in his gut.

Tucker squirms around grinning inwardly at the resultant laughter from Wash. 

They stay like that for a second. "Get off me.” Wash half snickers.

“No." Tucker contradicts "You're comfy.” Wash rolls his eyes but makes no protest. 

After a few seconds Tucker flicks on the TV to some weird ass special on giant snakes and a few minutes into the show Tucker feels slim fingers fiddling with his hair. Tucker doesn't hesitate to lean into the gentle petting. Enveloped by the scent of lemons and copper. Wash carts his fingers through Tucker's hair, hesitantly at first but with growing confidence when he doesn't pull away. His skin is soft and his form is warm against him, somehow comforting. Tucker closes his eyes and stops trying to focus on the big ass cobra on screen to instead concentrate on the warmth flooding through him from tips of Wash's fingers. He shifts slightly and the hands are instantly gone.

Wash kind of goes into a trance, and he somehow seems to forget that Tucker's real and with him and knows what he's doing until Tucker moves and he draws back without thought or hesitation. He pulls his hands to his chest and clasps them together as if they were that way all along, and the shaking and the white knuckles are completely normal.

Tucker opens one eye to see that Wash's lips are slightly parted, like he's about to explain, or apologize; he has that type of expression but Tucker doesn't give him a chance. He reaches up and grabs one of Wash's icy hands and places it firmly on his own head. It's seems like the best way to say this is fine.

Wash blinks, startled by the action, but feels his tension start to seep away at Tucker's soft smile. He lifts the corner of his mouth in return, trying to keep the uncertainty from his eyes. He takes a strand of Tucker's hair and curls it around his finger, pretending that he's more focused on the TV than anything else.

There. Right there. Tucker's insides swoop pleasantly at Wash's touch and he relaxes into the cradle of Wash's knees. Tucker is dimly aware that, being as Wash is guy he probably shouldn't be enjoying this so much. But he silences the warning bells in the back of his skull and almost purrs.

Tucker makes a noise that reminds Wash of the cat his parents had when he was younger, and he struggles to hide his laughter. Tucker turns slightly to face him, and narrows his eyes at Wash in an attempt to look unamused. But there's something behind the barely held straight face that makes Wash want to do something stupid.

It's really hard to look mad when what Tucker really wants is to shut his eyes so Wash's touch can keep dissolving the ache in his chest. He can barely contain himself at the way Wash looks right now and It's really hard to glare when Tucker really wants those soft, seeking hands to travel over every inch of his flesh and fill him up with light.  

No he doesn't. 

No fuckin way. 

Shit.

Wash can see something change in Tucker's expression, hears the nervous laughter and feels the awkwardness with it.  He tries to find something to distract him, even for just a second, but instead his fingers reach down to brush a stray lock of hair that falls in Tucker's face.

Dammit.

“Sorry."

“No." Tucker doesn't know if he's ever heard that particular note in his own voice before. “No." he repeats trying to catch Wash's eyes for some confirmation that is not really happening. Wash won't look him in the eye.

Wash can feel the walls closing in around him, and the heat from Tucker's body is _stifling_. He hears Tucker's voice more than he hears what he's saying, and desperately tries to hold on to the sound even as it starts to slip away.

Catching something is Wash's expression, Tucker sits up gingerly and looks searchingly up through his lashes at Wash's face. "Wash I-" Tucker doesn't know what he's trying to say except that he should say something. "Wash I didn't-" he tries again. 

Motherfucker.

Wash shakes his head. "S'okay." He mumbles, keeping his breathing steady so as not to be cause for alarm.

Tucker looks at him somewhat apologetically, his shoulders curl forwards as the lingering heat trails left by sweeping fingers dissipate into the stale air.

Wash clears his throat, using that as cover breaking the silence. He starts to speak, then stops, then tries again, and proceeds to fail miserably. In the end, he just leans back against the side of the couch and folds his arms over his chest.

They both just sit there awkwardly for a few minutes before Tucker slowly stands and heads to his room, Wash's probably wants to get rid of him, right? Every creak of the floorboards is deafeningly loud. Tucker folds himself into a ball on his unmade bed more confused than he's ever been in his life and what feels like a tangled mess of rubber bands in the middle of his chest.

Wash tries not to watch Tucker leave, but can't help how his eyes trail his hesitant figure. He takes a few deep breaths to calm his racing heart, and mentally kicks himself for the apologies he didn't offer.

Tucker doesn't bother to turn on the lights he just lies there trying to sort himself out. 

Fact: Tucker doesn't like dudes but Fact: Wash's hands on his skin felt amazing so Fact: Tucker is messed up.

Tucker lies there staring up at the paint chipping off his bedroom ceiling and trying to find his brains off switch. He doesn't know how long it takes but eventually his eyelids grow heavy and he drifts off.

 

Wash falls asleep with his head in his hands and his heart in the pit of his stomach.

 

* * *

 

 

Tucker doesn't know what time it is when the screaming starts.

 

Wash stares at the dark behind his eyelids for what must be hours before the shadows begin to take form, start to twist and shift until they form images. Colours pulsate across the beings, first illuminating a snake, hued by green and violet, and then to people he's known. First he sees his mother, then his father, and then one current juvie host who he can't seem to shake.

Then he's staring at the floor, watching red seep through his fingers and pool along the hardwood beneath him.

His head snaps up and he sees his reflection through the shards of a mirror, but his skin is coarse and peeling away from his face. Blood drips from his hollow eye sockets and down his cheeks, lining his features with  gruesome framework.

He tries to scream but doesn't hear a sound.

 

Tucker sits bolt upright heart staccato beating against his ribs screams reverberating back and forth in the midnight air as he darts (somewhat cautiously) into the living room. Wash is no longer on the couch. But he is the source of the ghastly noises, he's writhing and thrashing around on the floor which might be funny if it weren't so horrifying. 

Tucker steps hesitantly towards him.

 

Wash breathing is harsh and ragged as he fights the demons his mind supplies, not caring whether he gets hurt in the process. Desperation courses through his veins like an adrenaline rush except adrenaline doesn't let you feel pain and he hurts all over. His side throbs in an almost electric motion as he curls in on himself to buy some time against the claustrophobia. This would be hell, if he believed in such a thing.

 

Tucker has heard that you shouldn't wake a sleepwalker or they'll die or something, he's not sure if that applies to nightmares but he is sure that if he doesn't do something, like now, Wash is either going to kill himself or wake up the whole building. Neither are good options.  

But the way Wash's arms keep flying out to attack invisible enemies, Tucker knows he can't get close without getting punched in the dick. 

This whole train of thought happens in less than a minute and he steps into the kitchen, runs a cup of ice water and dumps it on Wash's head.

 

Wash wakes with a gasp, sitting bolt upright and coughing. Water runs down his face and he shivers, trying to distinguish the tears from what was poured over him. He takes in air like he's never breathed before, pulling his legs up to shield the wound on his stomach. His eyes scan the dark room, passing over shadows and shapes until he finds Tucker's face. A laugh bubbles up in his throat, but he knows it's not laughter at all so he keeps it down.

His voice makes it sound like he got hit by a car, but he forces a half smile anyways. “Morning."

“Morning." Tucker watches the thin smile on Wash's face falter until his wet blond head sinks to his knees and sobs wrack his form. 

Tucker sits next to him and wraps his arms tightly over Wash's chest. For a minute Wash's struggles weakly to break Tucker's grip and mutters something completely incoherent but then he seems to give up, going limp and pressing his damp face into Tucker's shoulder. 

Tucker can feel him shaking and he holds him tightly. He can't do much for Wash but he can do this.

Wash is startled with the familiarity of Tucker's arms around his shoulders, and tries to tell himself he doesn't need help. Doesn't want support. Doesn't deserve comfort.

But he can’t articulate his sentiment, and Tucker just holds him tighter until what would be a cage becomes a safe haven and he hates himself for ever wanting it to end.

 

Tucker is ridiculously happy, the emotion blended with concern but still, he was sitting in a puddle on his living room floor, Wash's head tucked against his shoulder with his shirt getting more soaked by the second all with what he can't tell, and he is happy.  They sit there like that as Wash's breathing slowly becomes more rhythmic and his shuddering subsides.

Wash pulls himself together slowly, like pieces of a puzzle sliding into place. There's still a few spots that remain unfilled, fragmented holes that burn with a sense of hollow, but he feels like everything he has is arranged to hold him strong. He lifts his head to look up at Tucker's face. "Thanks." He murmurs, soft smile painting his features.

“Yeah." Tucker's voice is barely above a whisper. Tucker starts to disentangle the mess of limbs they've become but "Stay." Wash lets himself ask without retraction this time, not quite willing to give up what they have here in favour of the awkward that no doubt awaits them.

Tucker looks at Wash in surprise before a smile warms his face. He still gets up, though only in favour of the couch before gesturing the empty space beside him.

Wash sits next to Tucker, a little hesitant but still going through with the action. He leans carefully into Tucker’s side, only fulling relaxing when the other man wraps an arm over his shoulders.

Maybe because it's dark, maybe because no one knows what time it is or maybe because of how surreal the whole situation is but for Tucker reality goes on hold for the time being. Wash is a graceful knot of long limbs, curled like an oversized cat in the curve of Tucker's waist. It doesn't take long before Tucker's asleep, with his heart in his throat and Wash leaning heavily against him.

 

Wash feels the transition from Tucker awake beside him to Tucker asleep, and feels a pang of guilt for waking him up this early, but he quickly pushes it down. Eventually, Tucker’s soft breathing lulls him to sleep. And when he closes his eyes and lets himself drift off, he doesn’t see a thing.

 

* * *

 

 

Light streaming into the room wakes Tucker way too early. He sits up slowly, trying not to wake Wash up. He stands and slips out the room in silence. Back to reality.

Tucker heads into his room to get dressed but instead of leaving the space he lays on the bed and and tells himself he's not imagine cool cotton into warm, rough flesh. Tells himself he's not into it. Tells himself a thousand of those comforting lies.

Breath in. Wash is your friend. Breath out. Nothing else. Breath in. Wash doesn't like you. Breath out. He still loves That Scumbag. Brea- 

But that doesn't matter because you don't like him anyway. Of course you don't. Breath in. Nononononononono. Breath. Just breath.

It takes way longer than usual for Tucker to stuff that cat back in the bag and step out of his room. 

 

Wash wakes, alone, and to a brightly lit room. He blinks, sitting up and dragging his palm across his cheek. He looks around, searching the apartment for signs of life. Wash shakes his head, running a hand through his hair and tugging slightly. He doesn’t see Tucker anywhere, so he must be back in his room. Did he imagine that whole thing?

Wash starts at the sound of a door opening, sending Tucker a strained smile as he walks in. “Hey." “

Hi." Tucker double checks that the mental closet is locked as shit before stepping into the room and catching Wash's eye with a concerned expression. "You okay?”

Wash swallows, then nods. “Yeah."

“Good." Tucker's voice is warm but does nothing to dispel the awkwardness hovering around them.

Wash's teeth dig into his lower lip. "So." He tries, desperate to fill the space. "How are you?”

Tucker laughs a little “Tired.” He admits, but doesn't add _'confused as hell’._

Wash nods, and doesn't question the waiver in Tucker's voice. “Okay."

Tucker flicks the radio on to cover the silence and starts making food, after a few seconds most of the uncomfortable vibes dissipate.

Wash slowly starts to relax as Tucker busies himself with the day. He can't help but follow his form with his eyes, and tries (AKA fails) to be discreet about it.

Tucker refuses to look in Wash's direction on the grounds that he'll start glowing like Rudolph the motherfuckin reindeer. Wash notices that every time Tucker's gaze runs close to his form he recoils as if he's been burned. Then notices he’s been doing the same thing.

Then decides to stop noticing.

 

* * *

 

 

Wash busies himself around Tucker's kitchen, holding his phone in one hand and rereading  the recipe displayed on the screen as he does so. He's just about figured out the room's layout by now, and is prouder than he should be about the achievement.

He almost doesn't want to have to find Tucker to explain his intentions, but this apartment has a weird ass stove and he can't for the life of him figure out how to use it.

 

Tucker is in his room. Door locked. Pretending to do homework. Refusing to think at all about perfect Wash's fingers felt tangling his hair. Determinedly not indulging in fantasies of more contact, skin on skin and slipping an arm around Wash's hips and slender fingers placed just-  Tucker is in his room. Door locked. Doing homework. 

 

Wash spends an unfortunate amount of time alternately worried for Tucker's recent lack of human contact and wondering if he did something wrong. More specifically, the long list of things he probably did wrong.

 

Two hours, a half finished project and a headache later, Tucker emerges from his cavern, drawn by the fuckin delicious smell.

 

Wash may have chucked something heavy at one or more of Tucker's kitchen appliances if the man in question hadn't walked into the room, carefully avoiding Wash's eyes. Wash winces a little as his stiff entry, and there's a moment of stillness before Tucker sends him a casual half smile and makes his way over to lean his elbows against the counter.

Tucker has to tell himself that there's no reason for the nerves grating like knives in his stomach. 

_God, what's wrong with me?_

He leans back on the island "Do you always have dreams that violent?”

Wash freezes, metal (and thankfully empty) bowl slipping through his fingers and making a sound like electric thunder where it hits the ground. He spins tentatively, turning to face Tucker with a look that spells out fear in every sense of the word. "What?" He asks, knowing he must be pale as a corpse.

“Wash, calm down.” Tucker holds his hands up as if facing a firing squad. "I'm just curious.” He doesn't add  _‘I just want to make sure you're okay’._

"But..." Wash struggles to find the words to encompass his point. "How did you know about the nightmares…?"

Tucker laughs softly more in surprise than anything else. "How could I not?" He takes a half step forwards. "That really wasn't the type of thing that would be easy to forget.”

Wash shakes his head. "You weren't..." He takes a shaky breath and tries again. "You were asleep?"  He doesn't mean it to sound like a question but his voice breaks on the last syllable.

"No?" Tucker reins in more laughter at the look on his friends face. "No, Wash, I wasn’t." he reaffirms.

Wash blinks. “But...you...what?"

Tucker's forehead creases in concern. “Wash." He licks his lips and tries again. “Wash, I really don't know what's confusing you….?"

Wash places his palms on the counter just opposite Tucker. "You mean," Pause, accompanied by a sidelong glance in obvious anxiety. "I didn't dream that?”

“Wash." Tucker's voice is insistent as he presses his palms flat to the others chest, encouraging him to sink into a chair. "Sit down before you pass out.”

“Well, whatever you were screaming at, yes.” Tucker rests a hand reassuringly on Wash's shoulder, feeling his skin twitch slightly. "But me... No.”

Wash lets Tucker guide him into a seating position, confusion still etched across his face. "Well." He looks up to find Tucker's eyes. “Shit."

"What?" Tucker sits next to him. "Is that not a normal thing?”

Wash is somewhat enamoured by Tucker's half worried, half amused expression and can't seem to look away. "Why?" He asks after a tense moment of silence.

“Well, if you're going to live here.” Tucker drums his fingers on the tabletop "I'd like to know what you want me to do when that happens.”

Wash finds his gaze drawn to his shaking hands. "I-It's fine. I just..." Images flash across his vision but he pushes them back. "Wasn't expecting you to...be nice to me.”

"When am I ever not nice ?" Tucker smirks, raising one eyebrow.

Wash inhales sharply to try to keep his mind in the present. "I don't know." His voice ends up sounding struggled and weak but he doesn't fight it.

“Hey." Tucker laces his fingers into Wash's "I meant it, asshole.” The insult is greatly watered down by the obvious concern in his voice.

It takes a moment for Tucker's touch to register, but when it does, all the pent up tension leaves Wash in one fluid motion. He jerks his head halfway to the side, then realizes his reaction and gently pulls his gaze back onto Tucker's face.

Something in Wash's piercing gaze is making Tucker's insides squirm, not unpleasantly, when a sharp ringing fills the air.

Wash stands with an abruptness that's not usually associated with someone like him, reacting to the noise by stumbling clumsily backwards until his back hits the edge of the counter. He curls away from Tucker as if he's been burned, or more likely, expects to be.

"Oh shit!" Tucker jumps up looks over towards the oven. “Wash, you set off the fuckin’ smoke alarm.” He smacks the 'cancel' button on the stovetop and hurries to shut off the machines incessant beeping.

Wash stands in silence, eyes wide, lips parted as the smoke starts to clear before blurting out "Sorry!" And frantically trying to puzzle out a way to help.

After shutting off the alarm Tucker can't help but burst out laughing. "Crisis averted.” He takes a deep breath and then rolls this eyes. "Well that's one way to ruin a moment huh?”

Wash tilts his head slightly. "We were having a moment?" He whispers, trying to ignore the way his stomach flutters at the thought.

“Uh, sure?" Tucker half smiles, then changes his answer. “Yeah.”

Wash can't fight the small smile that surfaces when he looks at Tucker's grinning face. “Okay."

Tucker is pretty sure he has a goofy grin on his face and he's pretty sure he doesn't care at all. "What were you doing anyway?" He slants a quizzical gaze at the oven.

Wash face twists in some form of apologetic contempt. "I was gonna make dinner.”

A warm little pressure rushes down Tucker's spine at the words, well less the words and more how Wash said them. "Lets start over.”

Wash nods. "Yeah. I like that plan.”

 

Eventually, after a lot of smarmy fake flirting, begging, and a smattering of death threats no-one took seriously, Tucker did manage to get Wash to be his ‘date’ for Donuts Spring Break Bash.

 

On the night of, Tucker's standing in the kitchen half watching TV and waiting for Wash to get ready. He's dressed casually in clean, slightly faded, jeans and a turquoise button down, open just enough to show off a generous slice of firm chest.

Enter Wash.

Tucker holds back a laugh at Wash's awkward expression, he's dressed way too formally, collard shirt and neatly combed hair. Looking very uncomfortable and also, Tucker thinks ruefully, oddly attractive.

Wash crosses his arms over his chest, blowing a strand of hair out of his eyes. He shuffles but doesn't move away from the doorway, a spot at his feet suddenly becoming rather fascinating. "Hey." He greets, though with a little more force than necessary. "What time do we leave?”

Tucker raises an eyebrow. "As soon as you don't look a goddamn bank manager.” 

He steps toward Wash and, ignoring the others squawks of protest, Tucker loosens Wash's collar and ruffles his hair until it swirls up in feathery spikes. Tucker chooses to ignore the shade of scarlet warming Wash's pale face as he steps back. 

“There.”

Wash just stares in silence for a few long seconds before sending Tucker the most condescending look he can manage. "I fucking hate you." He tells him, ignoring the way heat rises to his cheeks in favour of walking across the room to collapse on the couch.

Tucker shoots him a cocky grin. “Likewise." He gestures toward the door. "You coming my lady?" He teases. "Your carriage awaits, Cinderella.”

Wash shakes his head, but gets up to follow Tucker as he makes his way outside.

Tucker laughs off Wash's shrivelling glares as they head down to the parkade and hop in Tucker's car.  After just a few minutes, they roll up to Donuts luxurious home (his parents are always out of town). It's already dark but the house is glowing, pulsating with laughter and movement. There are beer cans and deflating balloons decorating the lawn. 

Tucker turns to explain to his silent companion the legendary quality of Donuts parties. 

He's never seen Wash look more terrified.

Wash can see Tucker's grin fade as he turns to look at him in his peripheral, and he turns to avoid having to meet his familiar emerald eyes. He swallows, sending Tucker a wavering smile before stepping out of the vehicle and into the cool evening air.

Tucker steps down slamming the door. The pair makes their way up the steps and into the front room. The air is thick and heavy, bodies crushed together, dancing, talking, drinking and kissing. Tucker laughs, calling out greetings to people he knows and winking at cute ones he doesn't. This is his element, his scene. But it's obviously not Wash's, he's twisting he's fingers together and his shoulders all hunched. _Well, it makes sense_. Tucker thinks. he's never seen Wash around the party scene before and he's pretty sure the dude is at least a little claustrophobic. He takes Wash's elbow and gently steers him to a marginally quieter space in an alcove near the stairs.

Wash takes a deep breath. "Thanks." He murmurs, trying to find some sort of distraction so he's not hanging off of Tucker's shoulder the whole time.

“Whatever." Tucker shrugs, eyes catching Wash's reluctant ones in a searching look. "We don't have to stay long.” He murmurs.

Wash tries his best to shake it off. "Nah, man." He weaves false security into the words. "I'm good.”

Tucker rolls his eyes “Bullshit." He laughs, though, and playfully punches at Wash's shoulder. "I'll bring a beer okay?" And he weaves his way off into the crowd.

Wash starts to say something in return, but Tucker's already disappeared. He feels a little sick at the thought of putting something so toxic into his system, but he doesn't want to be impolite either.

 

Donut was looking great, if the sidelong glances Doc kept sneaking at him were any indication. But tonight he had a more important mission than fabulousness (not that that had stopped him from OD-ing on hair gel). Tonight's mission was to get those two obviously, obliviously  lovesick idiots to admit to having feelings for each other. Donut had been watching (and totally not stalking) Wash and Tucker dance around the issue for nearly a month and half! It was totally tragic. Donut his eyes in exasperation and sashayed towards his target, being sure to add extra swing to his hips for Doc’s blushing benefit. Time to get the ball(s) rolling.

 

Wash is still leaning against the wall just outside the fray when he hears footsteps approach him from behind. He notices the beat is a little off from what he's used to, but brushes it off as paranoia. He turns, tucker's name on his lips, and stops dead.

Fuck.

"Hi!" Donut squeals, throwing his arms around Wash before stepping and giving his outfit a once-over. "You look great!" Or you know like he tried to. Whatever, A for effort.

Wash opens his mouth to speak, then stops, taking a moment to compose himself before managing a choked “Hey."

Donut wipes the mega watt grin off his face. Time to get down to business. "You know he's crazy about you right?”

Wash flinches a little at that, but would deny it vehemently if ever asked. “Huh?"

Donut waves his hand impatiently. “Tucker." He laughs. "Earth to Wash, he's in love with you!”

Wash gives him the most unimpressed look he can manage. "This is making me very uncomfortable." He speaks slowly, as if talking to a child. "And I think I'm going to go away now." He takes a hesitant step back, looking around for some sort of escape.

"Hell no you're not!" Donut cocks his head and sticks a hand on his hip. "Did you _hear_ me?" He locks their eyes. "And guess what Wash?" He steps forward. "You love him back.”

Wash leans back, running a hand through his hair. "Look this is really creepy, okay?”

"Well then you two shouldn't be so obvious about it.” Donut stamps his lightish red converse in annoyance. "Just kiss him already!" He adds before blowing a kiss over his shoulder and practically skipping away. Mission accomplished.

 

Wash breathes a heavy sigh of relief at Donut's retreating back, trying to calm his racing nerves.

_What the fuck just happened?_

 

Donut strolls around for a bit before locating Tucker near the bevs. "Tucker!" He giggles. "You made it!" 

Tucker knows he's a little drunk but not quite sloshed yet when a giggling ball of hot pink glitter bounces over.

"The hell do you want Donut?" 

Tucker gets a little worried about the devious look in Donuts eye and downright terrified at the blonds next words. "For you to admit you like Wash.” 

Tucker looks at him incredulously. "What the fuck?" 

"Oh come on!" Donut sighs (does his have to be so difficult?).

Tucker rolls his eyes. "How drunk are you?" He snarks as Caboose starts dragging Donut away. 

Donut loves Caboose, he really does but this is _so_ not a good time.  He disentangles himself from the insistent grasp to add. "He likes you too by the way.” 

It takes Tucker about 36 seconds to realize that holy fucking shit Donuts right. And about 34 more to realize that he doesn't give a damn.

 

Wash stands in the same spot where Donut left him for much longer than intended, afraid of running into someone else he doesn't need to see right now. Eventually, after convincing himself that he's safe, he makes his way through the crowd to stand outside, enjoying the fresh air and the change of scenery.

 

Tucker starts walking, like that will help the sticky gears in his brain. 

Donut was fuckin right. 

But it's really not that surprising, on some level he must of know that. 

A slew of freeze-framed images start a slideshow behind his eyelids. 

Wash curled up on icy pavement with moonlight reflected in his hair. 

_Click._

That day in math class and the way Wash's  eyes crinkle up when he laughs. 

_Click._

Anger coursing his veins as he traces indigo bruises. 

_Click._

Wash's voice on the phone. 

_Click._

Fading sunlight splashing shadows and seawater. 

_Click._

"Who are you?"

_Click._

A scarlet snake welling on porcelain. 

_Click._

His own fist connecting with Epsilons flesh. 

_Click._

Tears. 

 _Click._  

Hands intertwined, a contrast like wheat and dark earth.

_Click._

Wash's head on his shoulder. 

_Click._

Fingers wrapped in his hair. 

_Click._

Bodies pressed together at midnight, screams hanging in the air. 

_Click._

David Washington. 

Goddammit. 

When Tucker snaps back to reality he realizes that he's been mindlessly pacing the lawn for nearly 20 minutes. A shout and the resultant drunken laughter reminds him there's a party going on. He smiles to himself and struts in to join them. 

Now he has a reason to celebrate.


	3. Lead and Concrete

In the week following Donuts party, Tucker started doing some detective work; he'd always been good at judging if chicks were into him but it was a little disconcerting to see the same behaviours in Wash. 

A little amazing too.

Wash most definitely notices Tucker studying him when he thinks no one can see. Clearly he doesn't understand the concept of subtlety.

Tucker can tell himself that Wash is too far gone, too melodramatic, too still-pining-for-Epsilon, too everything. Sure he can tell himself that but his stupid heart's not listening.  It's almost 3AM, Tucker's laying on his rumpled sheets, thoughts rambling around the echo chamber of his brain. _You know, there's a difference between hot and beautiful_ , he muses, _and I'm not sure I really got that before._  

Hot is that waitress at Dunkin Donuts with the sweet ass.  Beautiful is the lit up glow in Wash's summer-sky eyes when he smiles.

_Goddammit when the hell did Donut start controlling my thoughts?_

Tucker rolls his eyes and squeezes a pillow against his chest. 

It's gonna be a long night.

* * *

 

With all the sexual tension buzzing around one tiny apartment, Tucker could almost see the sparks, it was only a matter of time before it caught fire. 

They were watching a terrible 80's movie on a Thursday night while thunder raged outside and Tucker pretended not to notice Wash flinching every time lighting flashed purple against the front window. 

To say that Wash was a little on edge would be a massive understatement. His whole body was wound up and pulled taught with steel cables, sending a jolt through his whole form when anything unexpected occurred. Then the fact that Tucker was sitting just close enough to radiate heat like the fucking sun, which was also really not helping the unnecessary suffocation via repressed emotion that plagued the apartment.

Tucker stopped being pretend oblivious to Wash's cringing away from the window when a particularly blinding flash, accompanied almost instantly with a deafening roll of thunder causes Wash's eyes to start away the screen and circle the room like birds looking for a safe landing spot. His breathing had started doing that weird little ragged, hiccuping thing too. The way Tucker's staring at him as if he's made of glass isn't helping the panic attack all that much, either.

Tucker had no idea why he did what he did next. 

Maybe it was Donuts little speech still colouring his thoughts, maybe it was that holy crap Wash looks really pretty. Or most likely because he'd waited way too long for this, but for whatever reason, Tucker turned and kissed Wash full on the lips. 

Tucker's heart was beating double-time and an icy heat like molten silver spread from the top of his stomach.  Wash's lips were thin and firm and just a little bit chapped, they tasted like cinnamon gum.  For a few seconds, Wash actually kissed back. 

Tucker was losing himself completely in a swirl of delicious warmth until Wash made a soft noise, like a sigh against his lips, that was enough to drop Tucker back into the moment.  He immediately pushed Wash away and stepped back. 

Betrayal. 

That's what he saw in Wash's azure eyes.  He left then, walked out into the rain because he couldn't stand to watch the fragile trust, so slowly built, crumble into ash and ruin.

Wash doesn't move, doesn't speak, doesn't think for a long time after Tucker leaves, just sits with his knees pulled close to his chest and listens to the steady tick tock of time passing where it mirrors his heart. He holds no tension in his shoulders and his breathing is soft and even; the rain and thunder are just white noise in the background. He's calm, calmer than he's ever been; that alone is terrifying. He's hurt in so many ways but can't seem to feel the pain. "I didn't mean you had to leave." He whispers, airily, belatedly, to the silence.

 

Tucker wanders around a nameless suburb for hours, feeling the heavy rain soak his hair and the shoulders of his T-shirt. He bites at his lower lip as if trying to erase the feeling of rough lips covering his own and then lifts his face to the sky so the icy droplets can rinse away the blood.  He walks until he just can't anymore and then sits under a towering cedar in an ugly park, listening to the rain on the branches and telling he shouldn't be so happy for gods sake.

 

Wash doesn't love Tucker. Tucker couldn't possibly love Wash. So why is this so damn complicated? Why does Wash somehow feel both shattered and complete at the same time? Why can't he erase this memory like he's done with almost every one with Epsilon? What makes Tucker so different?

 

Eventually Tucker goes home. He steps inside and shakes the moisture from his hair before slipping into his room and changing into dry clothes. He sits on the edge of his bed for a minute before steeling himself and walking into the living room.  Wash's gaze stays focused on the floor, even as he hears the door open and close and the soft rhythm of familiar feet _(I can tell him by his footsteps what the hell?)_ across the laminate floor. He can't bring himself to move- _don't panic_ -at all, the tension in the room palpable as Tucker enters once again.

_Deep breath._ Tucker squares his shoulders and looks Wash squarely in the eyes. "I'm sorry.” The apology is bitter on his lips.

Wash sends him a shaky but honest smile. "It's okay.”

Tucker is about to say something when he hears murmur what sounds like 'why?' Into towards the carpet. 

"What?" Tucker thinks out loud. Wash glances up, then down again.

"Why?" He repeats, unable to keep the question from circulating in his brain.

Tucker sits on the coffee table so they're almost eye to eye "I like you, okay?" He says, not expecting his voice to sound so vulnerable. "It's not much of a riddle, Wash.” Wash bites his lower lip, avoiding eye contact at all costs. The question burns like acid on the tip of his tongue but he doesn't ask, just says "Okay." in a tight, clipped voice and leans back in his seat, feeling the nerves in his brain start to short circuit but not making any effort to stop them.

"What?" Tucker's voice is low, pleading, "You look you're not saying something, please tell me.” His teeth catch his lip and he feels it start to bleed again. “Wash, you know that no matter what I feel I won't hurt you, right?”

Wash settles on a terse "Thank you." and leaves it at that.

Tucker can feel tears-stupid, girlish tears- grit at the corners of his eyes as he stands and leaves the room.

A spire of guilt drives it's way through Wash's chest as soon as Tucker's out of sight, and it's only then that he notices his hands are shaking.

 

Tucker paces his bedroom, he's not sure when he's ever felt more like an idiot- no wait what about... No. He's never felt more like an idiot, he just admitted he liked a dude who very obviously doesn't feel the same. Tucker foolishly even dared to think Wash liked him back, a sour laugh forces it's way out of his throat, how could someone as attractive and smart and sarcastically funny as Wash ever like a grade A fuck-up like Tucker?

 

Wash gets up, slowly, after a long stretch of silence, fishing a damaged set of keys from his pocket as he leaves the building. He turns his head against the bitter wind that hits him as soon as he crosses the threshold, convincing himself that it's the reason his eyes are watering. He's trembling all over by the time he reaches the car, getting in with no other aim than to be far, far away.

 

By the time Tucker emerges from his room it's dark out. The storm has finally stopped raging and the rain has cried itself out. Wash is gone and the room is quiet, Tucker can't stand quiet. He turns the radio up to Classic Rock and plops down on the couch. He's trying really to get Wash off his mind but the lemony scent of his skin is still imbedded in the cushions. Tucker curls up and lets his eyes drift shut, within minutes he's asleep.

 

Wash drives and drives until his surroundings blur into incomprehensibility, and even then he doesn't stop until light starts to drift over the horizon. He pulls off to one side of the road,  turning the ignition to off with a soft click. He sits in silence, breathing in the empty air. It's amazing how foreign the stillness seems, after just days of living in Tucker's constant movement.

 

Drifting in warm current on the edge of sleep, Tucker is dimly aware of footsteps. Instead of Dealing With It like he probably should he buries his senses in the sweet copper smell and allows an angled, pale face swim into his vision.

Wash stops by Tucker's side when he enters the apartment, taking a moment to study his soft features. He can't help but notice the way his whole form is relaxed when he's asleep; without having seen him like this, Wash would've never known he was tense at all.

The sense that a certain someone's electric blue eyes are searing through him like a laser beam waves away the last tendrils of sleep. Tucker yawns and sits up, brushing his hair out of his eyes. He smiles lazily at Wash before remembering that Wash is probably still really pissed at him. He wipes the grin off his face and stands awkwardly.

Wash stays in perfect stillness as Tucker progresses from welcoming to shameful to apologetic. Waits until they're standing, face to face, no more than a foot of space between them. He thinks about how easy it would be just to step forward, to trace his hand down Tucker's cheek and neck.

He decides on "Morning." instead.

"Hi?" Tucker fiddles with one of the beads threaded into his dreads. "Where did you disappear to?”

Wash shrugs, slipping his hands into his pockets. His palms sting against the fabric but he just smiles and hopes his not-answer is enough. “Around."

Tucker raises his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, man, I don't care.” He winks. “If you seeing someone I won't tell.”

Wash's brow creases in confusion. "Thanks?" He replies, not quite sure how to react to the statement.

The look of bewilderment on Wash's face is enough to bring a genuine smile to Tucker's face. “Anytime man.”

The look of honest amusement Tucker sends him is just enough to make Wash's own lips curve in a slight smile.

* * *

 

So that's how the next few weeks go. A little awkward, a little okay. It could be a hell of a lot worse but Tucker is painfully aware that he's probably screwed shit up forever by admitting to liking him. _Should've kept my big mouth shut._  

It's an obnoxiously sunny Wednesday morning, Wash is sitting at the table so immersed in a novel it would take The Jaws Of Life to pry him out and Tucker is eating cereal and watching football.

Wash has his knees pulled up to his chest, arms draped over his legs to reach the pages balanced on the table in front of him. He's dimly aware of the TV playing in the background, but too distracted to acknowledge it.

The phone starts shrilling though the relative quiet. 

Tucker really should know who’s calling; all the tell-tale signs were all there: it was the home phone, everyone else (except annoying telemarketers) called his cell. The way it rings supernaturally loud, enough to cause Wash to glance upward. 

But Tucker answers it anyway.

Wash, even from a slight sideways look, notices the way Tucker goes dead still when the receiver reaches his ear. He watches (not as subtly as he'd like to believe) in silence as Tucker stands there, frozen, for what feels like an eternity.

Dread pools in the pit of Tucker's stomach as the rasping voice, once so familiar, shreds at his ear. 

“Hello, son.” 

She won't even use his name anymore.

"Hi Ma.” She's so loud he's pretty sure Wash can hear from across the room. 

"Don't you dare 'ma' me.”

"Sor-" She cuts him off of course. "I shouldn't even let you talk to my baby after what you did.” Hissing now, like a steel snake. 

"Please?"  Tucker's voice cracks embarrassingly and he clears his throat, digging his nails into his palms to get himself back under control. 

A heavy sigh. "Fine. Five minutes" 

Tucker doesn't bother to thank her.

Wash tries to keep the surprise from his face, keeping a careful mask over his features. Instead, he keeps his eyes on Tucker, listening in quiet contemplation as a new voice filters through the speakers.

There's a buzzing noise over the line and then an excited squeal somewhere in the background. Tucker smiles as the childish voice crackles into his ear.  "Blarg honk honk blarg blarg!" 

“Hey, little dude.”  Tucker winces inwardly at the nonsense vocabulary.

_(Allmyfault.)_  

"Blarg?"

"No J, not right now.”  Tucker's always known what he's trying to say. 

"Honk blarg honk honk!" 

"I wish I could too.”  God he wishes he could see Junior. 

"Honk honk blarg honk.” 

"Hey tha-" An unhappy whimper tears at his heart as the phone is quite obviously ripped out of Juniors hand.

“Time's up.” 

"Please Ma I can't hurt him from over the phone.” 

A sharp intake of breath.  "I thought you weren't going to hurt him at all.” 

The line goes dead. Tucker very carefully hangs up the phone and then walks with measured steps to his and shuts the door. Once alone the pain crashes into him like a tidal wave, Tucker doubles over, willing himself not to be sick.

 

Wash gets up to follow Tucker, almost instinctively, when he leaves the room, but knows better than to bother him while he's distressed. Instead, he sits back down with a sigh, novel cast aside and forgotten.

 

_She won't even call you by your name anymore. No J not now-not ever. (‘I thought you weren't going to hurt him at all.’)_ Tucker isn't so much breathing as drowning now, barely pulling air into his lungs and silently choking on sobs. He's usually upset when she calls but not this bad, now though everything with Junior is all mixed up with Wash in his head. 

Tucker stuffs his knuckle in his mouth so only a few strangled, choked noises can escape. He bites hard enough to taste to blood. Bad idea it all transports him back simultaneously to that awful day in the bright white snow and to that awful week in the bright white hospital room. 

The whole space is spinning crazily and tilting the world on its axis. 

Through the fog Tucker faintly hears the door creak. 

_Ohgodnoohgodnotlikethis._

_Don't let him see me like this._

Wash pushes the door open (softly, so as not to cause alarm), taking in Tucker's hunched form. He doesn't ask what's wrong, knows better, instead just takes a seat beside him and drapes an arm over his shoulders, pulling him close.

Tucker doesn't even think about how he must look to Wash right now but the solidness beside him is good, balancing out the tilt-a-whirl of a planet. He just rests his head on the taller man's shoulder and tries not to let the heaving sobs he can feel in his chest make their way out.

Wash can see Tucker coming down from his panic attack, and stays perfectly still as his breath gradually grows more even. He embraces the quiet, making it something calm rather than hostile, and waits for Tucker to make the first move.

Once Tucker is calmer he almost freaks out again. _Oh my god Wash just saw the worst I've been in a long damn time._   He sits up and takes a fairly calm breath.  "I'm sorry.”  He looks up then back down. "I'm so goddamned sorry.”

Wash shakes his head, still closer to Tucker than he would've allowed in a normal situation. "Don't be." He says it matter-of-factly, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"Goddammit no"  Tucker stands and starts pacing in tightly constricted circles. "My shit.” he waves a hand to indicate the shit. "Is not that compared to what I've seen of yours, I had no right to be a freakin’ wreck like that.”

Wash gives him a sad smile. "Everyone has their moments.”

Tucker squints his eyes shut and exhales sharply "I guess”. 

"Hey." Wash is standing up now, still a little too far into Tucker's space. "Seriously, it's okay.”

Tucker manages a laugh. "It's really not.”  He doesn't say; _‘it's a little better with you here though.’_ He does say; "I guess I owe you an explanation?”

Wash's head tilts down, just a little, so he can see Tucker's eyes better. "Only if you're ready.”

Tucker shrugs "Don't baby me, asshole.”

Wash sighs. "That's not what I meant."

What is it about Wash that can make Tucker smile even now?  “Yeah, I know.”  _God I'm such a wuss._

He laces his fingers together and tells himself to be numb. "So my dad left when I was really little, I don't care cause I don't remember him anyway and my mom didn't really like him anymore. That’s what she told me, anyway.”  He looks over at Wash. "I won't tell you a terrible lifetime movie sob story”.

Wash's lips curve a little at that, but he flicks his hand in a _'go on'_ gesture.

Tucker gives him a scowl. “Hey, this isn't a freakin show this is my life.”

Wash softens, and has the decency to look apologetic. "I know.”

"Oh shut up, you blond fuck. Anyway, so my mom changed jobs a lot and moved around more than I guess I would've liked, but whatever, I was basically happy. So when I was like 10 we moved to this crap hole. But things okay until she got remarried about a year after that."  Tucker stops pacing and sits down on the bed, careful to move out of Wash's space. "God this is so cliché, so right away my stepdad did not like me, not only because I wasn't his kid but also because in case you didn't notice I'm this lovely chocolate colour." God he really doesn't want to talk about this.

Wash doesn't bother trying to hide his surprise at that. “Seriously?"

Tucker raises an eyebrow. “Sadly, yes. But something good did come out of it because they had a kid.” He glances over at Wash trying to gauge his reaction, he's never really told anyone all this point-blank before.  "Which sounds like it would make it worse but I loved him.”  Tucker's voice catches slightly, dammit don't break down now.  "And hell on toast, Wash, I don't really care about that many people least of all little kids but I loved my brother.”  His voice flat out breaks on brother.  _Breath in, breath out._   "Maybe it would've been okay even though _He_ hated me, but I fucked it up like I always fuck everything up.” 

Fresh tears make an appearance along his cheeks.  "It was January, two years ago.”

The fact that Wash is sitting _thisclose_ is really not helping Tucker stay detached. "So I took J to go sledding up by the Beech Woods, I was all pleased with myself because It was a victory to be allowed to stay alone with him anywhere. We were sledding and having snowball fights and stuff and the snow-" _Breathe._ "-the snow was so thick you couldn't see the depression where that swampy little pond was.” Tucker beats down the inferno racing through his lungs. "It was my fault, all of it.” Without really knowing what he was doing, Tucker scratches at the pulse point of his wrist, methodically shredding at the skin.

"He went through the ice.”

Tucker's wrist is bleeding but it doesn't hurt enough. He presses the heels of his hands to his eye sockets for a moment before he continues."He just disappeared and instead of going for help- like I should've- I tried to get him out but I couldn't so ran across the street and called 911 and they came roaring up and everyone was yelling and He grabbed me and beat the crap out of me for what I did and oh god I deserved it.” Tucker makes no attempt to hide the fact that he's falling apart. "When they pulled out he wasn't breathing and they stuck him in the ambulance and roared away.”

Wash says nothing, just takes Tucker's hand with delicate fingers and flips his wrist so it's facing up. He pulls his sleeve over his palm and presses the fabric to the wound, not caring that he's getting blood on his sweater.

"They let me see him once in the hospital.”  Tucker swallows the acid rising in his mouth and jerks his wrist away from Wash. "His eyes, oh god, his eyes were yellow, gold really and they've never gone back to blue.” He gets up and starts circling the room again. "He has brain damage, no one really know what's wrong but something about being in the ice water that long messed him up-permanently. as soon as I was old enough Ma had a shady ass judge sign a bunch of papers saying I was separate her family but she still has to pay my rent and _'necessities'_ by court order. So they moved to a nice part of town and send checks and J's never said a word since.”  Tucker can tell he has the insane smile on his face that happens when he's about to explode. "No one knows what's wrong with him, but I do.”  A beat of silence. 

“Me." 

The word hangs in the air.  "I mess up everything I touch, if life hands me something good I break it like glass.I had junior and look what I did, and goddammit Wash I've permanently screwed up the good thing that you are too because I fucking kissed you like a fool.” 

Tucker glances at his bleeding wrist. "I'm a curse, Wash. I'm toxic.”

Wash breaks just a little bit. "I don't believe that." He whispers, clenching his hands at his sides because he's not sure what he would do with them if he didn’t.

"Believe it.”  Tucker smiles bitterly. Wash (slowly, with delicate fingers), places one hand on either side of Tucker's face and turns him so they're facing each other fully. He takes a deep breath and shakes his head, letting a nervous laugh escape his throat before his eyes meet Tucker's again.

They fall shut, and he presses their lips together.

Tucker is so surprised he can't do anything but kiss back. And honestly even he weren't so confused he'd probably do the same thing. If for no other reason than he'll sure as hell he'll never get another chance at this. It's better than anything he can remember and little explosions like the bubbles in champagne are fizzing through his bloodstream, it feels so right to lean in to Wash's body and link his fingers around Wash's neck to keep him close. Wash's hands go up and tangle into his hair and he can't remember his own name.

Wash spends a total of one second wondering why the hell his brain thought this was a good idea now, of all times, before deciding he couldn't care less.

Tucker only pulls away when he remembers that this is Wash and he's barely atoned for last time he did this.  He can force himself to break their lips apart but can't quite unlock his fingers and Wash's slim digits stay buried in his ropy tresses like they belong. It’s not helping that Wash looks so adorably flustered, with his hair messed up and his cheeks flushed pink and his pupils blown like pools of spilled ink over the irises. 

"I'm sorry you had to listen to that rant.” Tucker has to concentrate to get the words out. "I really make it out a lot worse than it is.” He laughs a little. "And wish I could say I'm sorry for that.”  They both know by _‘that'_ he means whatever just happened.

Wash suddenly feels a hell of a lot more self conscious than he's been in...well, a hell of a long time. Almost involuntarily, his teeth dig into his lower lip and he ducks his head, but still he can't hold back a smile. "So." The word tastes so foreign on his tongue; normally he's not this lost. "What now?”

Tucker brushes their lips together ever so lightly. Wash looks a little freaked out but he's not moving away. "I don't know.”

Wash tightens his hands just slightly in Tucker's hair, but keeps his breathing steady even as the prolonged contact starts to make him dizzy. He can feel his mind start to curl in on itself, but doesn't pull away. "I guess we'll have to figure it out.” 

Tucker takes Wash's hand and gently traces the patterns of delicate veins under his skin and skims the thick scar on his palm.  Neither of them notices that Tucker is bleeding a little bit still.

Wash sighs softly, knowing his emotional sensitivity is making him feel exhausted. He leans forward, hesitating once in a question of permission, and rests his forehead against Tucker's collarbone when he's given no protest. Tucker smooths out the wrinkles in Wash's shirt and firmly rubs at the knots in the blonds shoulders, his efforts to relax him are rewarded with a soft sigh. Tucker has to remind himself that while he's used to physically intimate contact and likes it; Wash probably not so much and going by what he knows about the Epsilon situation, he probably doesn't have great associations with it either.

Wash count slowly from one to ten, then backwards, and forwards again, but nothing seems to calm the coil in the pit of his stomach.

He doesn't say any of that. Just pulls back to look at Tucker and smile as best as he can.

Tucker sits back and gently pushes Wash back a few inches. "We should both get to bed.”  He gives him a warm smile.  "We'll talk in the morning, okay?”

Wash relaxes a little and nods, pausing before getting up to curl his arms around Tucker's shoulders. With a reassuring smile, he darts out of the room, mentally lecturing himself for the flush on his cheeks.

 

After Wash leaves and Tucker bandages his bleeding wrist, he should be mentally berating himself the little display earlier but…Wash was the one to kiss. 

Wash kissed me. 

Wash kissed _me._

Tucker lays out in his bed grinning like a fool into the dark.

* * *

 

It's hard to believe that after everything that happened to them it was easy, just to act without thinking. It was simple. Everything that happened in his mind since Tucker first admitted to liking him was anything but; all whirlwinds and hurricanes of doubt and insecurity. And while those qualities weren't gone, it was like something had cleared in his mind that made it okay.  It took over an hour for the concept of not good enough started to return, but by then he was on the edges of sleep and the focus was short-lived.

* * *

 

Wash wakes to soft sunlight filtering through the windows, and he smiles at the warmth he feels, both inside and outside. He sits up slowly, blinking the sleep out his eyes. It must be past nine, with the brightness of the room, but he doesn't feel any particular hurry to get up just yet.

 

From the second reddish light hits Tucker's eyelids he's ecstatic. He hates himself for verbally vomiting his stupid life story last night but how can he hate anything with the feeling of Wash's hands and his lips? How can he be worried about what the future holds when Wash has eased the longing Tucker's had for him since Donuts party?

 

Slowly, Wash makes his way around the house, delighting in the fact that the space doesn't feel so foreign anymore. He can't see Tucker anywhere, and just assumes he's sleeping, ensuring his footsteps are light against the floor and the tap runs without interruption.

 

Tucker finally swings his legs over the side of the bed and shuffles out of the dimly lit room, blinking owlishly in sudden brightness. When Tucker emerges, Wash freezes where he’s standing, adopting an awkward smile and a wave rather than an attempt at speech. Tucker stretches so hard his spine pops before gesturing Wash to sit on the couch and perching on the coffee table opposite. Wash complies, taking a seat with a forced casual air and trying not to notice the lack of space between them.

"So..."  The silence between them stretches like taffy and hangs over their heads like a guillotine.  "You know I hate to start a conversation this way." Tucker grins. "But about Last Night..."  The admittedly fairly lame joke does the trick of break of dispelling some of the painful awkwardness. Wash rolls his eyes and the corner of his mouth twitches. 

Tucker sucks in a deep breath and tells himself to Get On With It "So, what, what are we?"  Nice job Tucker, real smooth. Wash's eyes dart to the floor, then back up to rest as close to Tucker's eyes as he can force them.

"I don't know." His voice is soft and accompanied by a shrug.

"Look, Wash." Tucker sits back slightly and forces himself not to bite his nails "We're gonna have to talk about this sometime so it might as well be now."  _Godthisisawkward_. "I like you, Wash." he restates "I've laid my cards on the table but you're hiding yours, you acted like I, like I betrayed you when I kissed that time and then last night you kiss me like you care." Tucker holds his palms up in a gesture of utter bewilderment.

Wash does nothing but blink for a few long seconds, a spire of fear curled like a corkscrew in the pit of his stomach. Then; "Of course I care." He whispers it, like it's almost painful to say aloud.

"Then what the hell is going on Wash?" Tucker takes a deep breath so he won't explode. "I don't expect you to feel the same, I don't expect you to give a shit but I'd appreciate some honesty, or something?"  Tucker clenches his fists at his sides and doesn't meet Wash's eyes. 

Wash coughs, eyes burning a hole through the floor, and it takes him three tries before he can get the words out. "I've never really had a..." He struggles for a term. "...boyfriend..." Close enough. "Before Epsilon." He glances up when he feels Tucker's eyes on him, but doesn't allow him to respond. "And I sure as hell have never tried something like I did with you yesterday." The _I'm sorry_ goes unsaid, but he's afraid Tucker won't know that it's there. "Still." _Pull yourself together._  "Really. Honestly. Truly, I care, but good god, I do not know what I'm doing." _Deep breath._ "And I-" His voice drops. "I get it if you don't want me because of that.”

Tucker can't help the huge grin that spreads across his face. “You fuckin idiot, Wash.”

Wash flinches, doubt flashing across his face before he reigns the shock back in. “What?"

"It's not like I've been with a lot of Y chromosomes either.” Tucker's brain is buzzing with relief and something like elation. "And Jesus Wash, if you think that's any kind of turn off then I guess I wasn't clear on my intentions.”  

Wash's somewhat strained half smile falters and collapses. Tucker's eyes dart upward, crap what did I say?

Wash looks down for all of two seconds, has his moment, and gives Tucker a look that puts too much emphasis on _I swear I'm okay_.

Tucker figures this can't really get more awkward so he plunges ahead "But look, Wash, I don't know much about your, um, _history,_ or anything, but I've seen the way you flinch at the mention of, _ugh,_ physical stuff." He was wrong it could get more awkward. "And I don't know what the hell last night was but I know I went too far too fast I could see it on your face, so..." He meets Wash's eyes. "So you have to tell me what's okay, Wash, you have to tell how not to fuck this up.”

Wash's features shift to confusion. "Huh?" He stammers, still running the words over in his head.

"Goddammit don't make me try to put that into words again" Tucker can feel his cheeks blazing and the back of his neck is on fire.

Wash nods, slowly, and then faster. "Okay." He says it so impassively, what with his heart beating like thunder and the hollow feeling he gets from the explanation.

"Please." Tucker's voice breaks jaggedly. "Please tell what you're thinking, I can't read your mind, Wash.”

Wash smiles, just a little, leaning forwards to brush his lips against Tucker's cheek before resting his head on his collarbone. "I'm okay." He says it like it's weightless, even though the he's held down by the sound of his own voice and his arms curled around Tucker's waist.

The contact, the sudden warmth of Wash's skin, scrambles Tucker's mind for a moment. "Like hell you are."  He speaks, of course, without thinking.

Wash hums, gently overlaying the fear with content. "Shut up." He mumbles, burying his face further into Tucker's chest. It feels good like this, to have the other man tucked against him so that Tucker's shoulders curl forward protectively but something keeps the moment good as opposed to perfect. Something feels weirdly disjointed and Tucker can't ignore that.

Wash waits for a seemingly endless moment and the tension in Tucker's shoulder doesn't dissipate, so he pulls back with a sigh, resting his hands on the shorter man's hips. "What's wrong?" He asks, and it feels inexplicably right that the question comes from his lips this time.

Tucker has to force his hazy brain to listen to Wash's words instead of focusing on how perfectly his hands fit right there, cupping Tucker's hipbones in the sweetest way possible. "It feels like you're hiding something.”

Wash shakes his head, reaching up to run his fingers along Tucker's cheek. "This is hard for me." The confession comes out barely above a whisper, but he barrels on. "You more than anyone should know that." He pauses, searching for the words to express his thoughts. "But beyond that," He looks straight up at Tucker when he says it. "I'm okay.”

"I do know, so that's why it's even more important that we talk, however painful it might be." Tucker instinctively knots his hands against Wash's spine and puts just a little pressure on his tailbone, the resultant gasp and then total relaxation of the others mans form against him shows he did the right thing. "Wash we really do have to talk because I'm scared, I'm scared of messing this up.”

Wash sighs. "I know, I know." He tilts his head to the side in thought, closing his eyes and taking a slow breath. "But you don't need to be. I'll tell you if something goes wrong and we can sort it out." He gives a half hearted attempt at a smile. "And you have to do the same for me, okay?”

"If the future is anything like last night then I'll never have anything to tell you.” Wash ducks his head just a little, knowing that won't hide the flush that spreads across his cheeks.

Tucker laughs at Wash's attempt to conceal his embarrassment. "You're so cute when you're blushing." Tucker teases him, that of course doesn't help the crimson staining Wash's cheeks.

"Shut up." Wash mutters, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in his seat.

"Okay." Tucker shrugs and kisses Wash quickly on the lips. "There."  He looks away so he won't burst out laughing at the shock that Wash is trying to transform into a glare.

Eventually, Wash gives up on trying to keep a cool front and just rolls his eyes, taking an opportunity for distraction by making his way to the kitchen sink for a glass of water. He closes his eyes, and just for a moment, everything feels perfectly aligned.

* * *

 

It's Sunday afternoon, Tucker is half doing homework half not doing anything at all and Wash is out somewhere.

The phone ringing brings Tucker out of his reverie, "Hello?" It's a smoothly moderated robot-voice announcing Epsilons court appearance. They want Wash to testify. Tucker's just hanging up when Wash himself walks in. Speak of the devil.

The minute Wash enters the room he knows something's wrong. Tucker's got a far away look on his face, and his shoulders are far too tense for someone his age. That, plus Wash's phone is in his hands.

"What are you doing?" He asks, enunciating each word carefully so as to avoid miscommunication.

"You left your phone.” Tucker says to avoid explaining for a minute. "It's court, Wash.” Tucker turns to face his (maybe?) boyfriend "According to them this is the 4th time they've called without answer.”

Wash scowls. "And you didn't think there was a reason for that?”

"I'm pretty sure you had some reason but explain to me what it is, Wash, please tell me what's keeping you tethered to him please tell me what you see that I don’t.” Wash doesn't bother holding back a sigh, kicking his foot against the carpet and training his eyes on the floor. "It's complicated.”

"Well I have all the time in the world to listen.” Wash flashes him a pained look. "Sit down." It's more of a question than a statement, and when Tucker complies he takes a seat on the coffee table opposite him. He faces Wash head on tells himself he will not speak. He will listen only. He thinks it might be difficult but The tilt a whirl of emotion spinning in Wash's summer sky eyes is enough to shut him up.

Wash takes a deep breath, and closes his eyes when he starts to speak. "I was quite young when I met him." Epsilon's name goes unspoken. "Bright, carefree, reckless. Everything you could expect from a child. He was older, wiser, and obviously better than me. I looked up to him. In retrospect, I should've known then that it would never work. But again; young, foolish." He pauses for a second, glancing up at Tucker's unreadable expression. "At first, everything was perfect. It felt like nothing could go wrong.

"Then the illusion shattered.

"I came out to my parents, after a few months of keeping our relationship secret. They were...angry. Furious. I'd never seen them react like that before. To be honest, I was terrified. "I showed up his door at around midnight, knowing I couldn't go back. He told me that I shouldn't've come, that it wasn't safe. I didn't understand that until much later.

"He had a place of his own, about twenty minutes away. Rotten, run-down, but we didn't have nothing else. We moved in, I continued to go to school, he got a job with a construction company. For a while, it was okay.

"Then it wasn't.

"This was where it all went wrong. The smoking, the drinking, all of it started about three months after we started living together. He got caught intoxicated at work and was fired. Has been unemployed since. I started to get really worried, so I went to see his dad.

"That was my first mistake. The man was livid. Out of control. Said I'd 'stolen his son from him'. Threw a wine bottle at me. Still half full. As you can imagine, I got the hell out of there after that. When I got home, he was waiting for me. Stone-cold sober, first time in months. He asked me where I was, and I told him the truth. That was my second mistake." He looks up, fully faces Tucker for the first time since he started, blinking away the tears that come to his eyes.

Tucker grinds his teeth and fights to keep his face neutral, he presses his hand over Wash’s in a reassuring gesture.

Wash smiles, strained, but it falls when he starts talking again. "That was the first time he hit me." The confession is choked, and he has to force the words past his lips. "I...well, you pretty much know what happened after that.”

"No, Wash, I really don't." Tucker opens his arms for the other man to fall into them. "Look,I know you don't like talking about this but I-I mean, I've never pressed you talk until now so tell me the whole story.” He rubs small circles over Wash's shoulder blades and spine. "Take all the time you need and go up until right now.”

Wash shakes his head. "It's pretty straightforward." He's almost whispering now. "It just never stopped. And then..." He hesitates for just a moment, not sure how much he can say. "You were there."

Tucker stays silent, hopeful the empty air will prompt some elaboration.

Wash can tell what Tucker is doing, but instead of talking he just buries his face further against Tucker's chest. Tucker is a little struck by how familiar this is now, Wash's head pressing his rib cage and his arms loosely wrapped over Tucker's hips. 

Tucker decides not to press him and instead concentrates on Wash instead of the rage boiling in his stomach. Wash can practically feel the emotion radiating off Tucker. "Stop that." He whispers, edging closer as if that will stifle the feeling.

"I'm sorry.” Tucker's voice is rough with everything he won't say.

Wash lets out a long breath that's not quite a sigh. "You know you can tell me, right?”

"You'll be mad.” Tucker sing songs.

Wash smiles a little at that. “Nope."

"God, Wash." He shuts his eyes so the sight of the age old scar slicing Wash's collarbone won't fuel the fire "It makes me want to kill him" Tucker admits "I-I mean it kills me to think about anyone hurting you." He can feel his face flush at the confession.

Wash's features falter, but he keeps his voice steady. "Thank you." He murmurs, letting his eyes fall shut.

"I said you wouldn't like what I had to say.”

Wash lifts a shoulder in response. "It's okay. I get it.”

Tucker tilts Wash's chin up and kisses him apologetically, the rush of sweet sparks ricocheting through his bloodstream soothes his anger a little bit.

The sense of Tucker's lips on his is a little abrupt, and he can't help but pull back for a second before leaning into it, curling his hands around Tucker's waist.

It's not so easy to keep himself just a little removed and to remind remind himself it's Wash, because god the earth is spinning out of control on its axis and Tucker feels drunk on taste of his lips and addicted to perfect way they fit together.

For long while, Wash doesn't dare move, but eventually he leans back just enough to look Tucker in the eyes, still feeling hot breath on his cheek.

Dammit.  Tucker mentally shakes himself and it takes all the self control he has to pull away. "Fuck, Wash, I'm sorry.”

Wash blinks, taking a second to fully register what was said. He shakes his head, a little faster than perhaps was necessary, and speaking in fast tones. "No, no it's totally okay." Tucker is still wary, turned slightly away from. "You didn't do anything wrong.”

"We okay?" Tucker asks him gently, scooting back to put a good few inches between them.

Wash smiles. "Of course.”

Tucker finally decides _fuck it._ "Will you still be okay if I kiss you?"

Wash’s grin only grows wider. “Absolutely."

Tucker didn't think anything got better but apparently... It does. It does when Tucker moves so slowly to savour every motion. Pressing his palms flat over Wash's chest and for once getting all the time in the world to study those captivating eyes. And then sweeping the lightest kiss over Wash's chest and drinking in the resultant gasp before kissing him properly. 

The look on Tucker's face is almost as electrifying as the physical contact, eyes bright and searching. The room is supercharged, like the space between them has manifested into a solid object, and suddenly there's far too much of it.

Tucker keeps his kiss gentle and quick so as not to overwhelm Wash, kissing him is so much better than anything else; sugar sweet while it lasts it causes physical pain to break away. But he does and sits back so they're joined only interwoven fingers and Tucker's hand resting on Wash's shoulder.

* * *

 

Wash wakes earlier than he'd wanted to, jolted awake by the incessant sound of his phone on the table. He stands up slower than he probably should, running a palm over his eyelids as he makes his way over to the device. Bright and in flashing white letters across the screen, is a name. Wash presses reject and sets the object face down on the counter.

It's not the first time Tucker's woken up to see Wash staring at his phone like he's trying to liquify it with the powers of his mind. "Morning, sunshine."

Wash's head whips around, on complete high alert, before he recognizes Tucker's familiar face and his features soften to a gentle smile. "Morning." He says in return, and is trying to come up with a good follow-up when his phone starts blaring again. He lets out a long breath, flips it over and presses the receiver to his ear. "Go away." He says, before any response could be offered from the other end, and them promptly hangs up.

"Jeez." Tucker mutters. "Is it those rabid journalists again?"  Some newspaper covering Epsilons trial had been harassing them for nearly a week now.Tucker hasn't told Wash or anything but he's been following the trial pretty closely too. Wash was thus far refusing to acknowledge that it was happening.

Wash's features twist in something between pain and disdain. “No."

"Was it he-who-must-not-be-named?" The attempted joke falls epically flat as Tucker sits down next to Wash with a sigh "What's up? This usually doesn't bug you this much.”

Wash shifts, but ends up leaning closer to Tucker rather than further away. "I want him to stop calling me." He whispers, tensing in preparation for the no-doubt-oncoming phone call.

"I know you'd rather ignore it than give him hell, but I think you should go to the hearing." Damn Tucker's big mouth. He told himself he wouldn't bring this up.

Wash shakes his head. "I don't want to see his face anymore.”

"You don't even have to talk, Wash." Tucker figures he's already put his foot in his mouth far enough so he plunges ahead. "They found other people to testify but it might be good for you.”

Wash's face twists. Then he looks up, catching Tucker's eye in a sidelong glance. "You'd come with me, right?”

"Yeah of course" Tucker has a brief internal struggle but decides it's better to tell him here than have him find out in court "Listen Wash, thing is the other people testifying are..." _Crap how can I say this?_ "He had other boyfriends, Wash. as far as I know he didn't hurt them so bad. Because he didn't live with them, I guess." Tucker takes a deep breath and continues. "He had other boyfriends while he was with you, Wash.”

Wash closes his eyes and exhales, trying to pry his fingernails from his palm. "I'm not surprised." He says, an echo of mirthless laughter following the words.

Tucker's not quite sure what to think of that reaction but does take Wash's hand before his nails puncture a vein. "You deserve so much better, Wash.”

Wash smiles at him, just a slight turn of lips. "Is that your ego talking?”

"Hell no it's not, because to be honest I doubt I'm good enough for you either.”

Wash leans his head to rest on Tucker's shoulder. "You're better than good enough." He murmurs, resting his cheek against Tucker's collarbone.

"Not really,” Tucker pulls their chairs closer together. "But thanks.”

Wash shrugs. "I'm entitled to my opinion.”

"Whatever you say. Hey, so…” Tucker gestures to their intertwined fingers, to closeness of their forms. "This is okay, right?”

Wash huffs out a breath, rolling his eyes. "Yes, of course.”

Tucker turns so they're facing each other and lays both palms flat over Wash's chest. "Is this?”

Wash nods, speech quickly losing ground to the heat of Tucker's palms through his shirt.

"Yeah?" Tucker challenges, and honestly, what is it about Wash that sends his heart tail spinning furiously around in his chest?

Wash is still nodding. “Yeah."

Tucker is about to move away a bit and give Wash his space but surprised to find Wash's pale hands gripping his biceps to hold him there. “Hey, what..?”

Wash forces himself still. "Stay." He asks, not succumbing to the shame that often follows that phrase.

"Thought you wouldn't let me.” Tucker whispers, settling back down. He can feel Wash's heartbeat thundering wildly under his fingertips and knows his is beating just as furiously.

A ghost of a smile catches Wash's lips. "You thought wrong.”

"Did I?" Tucker smiles mischievously up at him. "Prove it.”

Slowly, Wash slides his hands along Tucker's arms, trailing his fingers over his shoulders and neck before settling on either side of his face. He looks, just looks, at Tucker for a long moment, touching their foreheads together before tilting his chin up to meet Tucker's lips.

Well Tucker did tell him to prove it, did he ever. Tucker happily leans in kisses back gently, his arms float upwards to twine around Wash's neck. And although this time it's Wash that refuses to break the contact, it's not like Tucker's complaining at being held there.

Wash loses all hesitancy at Tucker's unwavering response, shifting one hand to tangle in his hair and letting the other fall to rest at his waist, keeping him close. Tucker is choosing to ignore how emasculating it is to be sitting pretty much in Wash's lap, focusing instead on how well the fit together- like puzzle pieces slotting into place.

For a moment, Wash is content to just stay there, breathing in tandem, but for a split second his vision flickers and his hand slips under the hem of Tucker's shirt, thumb brushing against the exposed skin, without considering the consequences of the action.

Tucker pulls back with a jolt, and Wash loses all sense of focus. Holy crap. In the grand scheme of things, in all Tucker's seen and done the small action of icy hot skin suddenly coming way closer than expected is not a big deal. But coming from Wash, and considering how fast it makes him giddy it's huge. And also a little weird.

"We okay?" Tucker asks carefully, trying to read the expression on Wash's face.

Wash tries to speak but all that comes out is a soft "Mhm." He rolls with it and maintains a nonchalant expression.

Okay then. Tucker leans away a little and blinks to clear his head "Hello, earth to Wash.”

Talking is a challenge. Hell, so is breathing, but Wash isn't totally sure which combination of those he's having success in.

"Okay Wash say something you're starting to freak me out.”

The first thing that leaves his mouth is "Sorry!" and he says at a louder volume than he means to. Tucker raises an eyebrow

"I'm not sure what you're apologizing for Wash.”

Wash draws a total blank and just sits there, blinking, like an idiot.

Tucker laughs a little at the deer-in-the-headlights expression on Wash's face and drapes himself over Wash's chest, resting his head on the other mans shoulder and trying give off calm vibes.

Wash makes a quiet, frustrated noise and curls his arms around Tucker's waist, soaking in the warmth of the figure against him. Heat. That's the difference. _He_ was never warm.

Tucker murmurs little soothing shushing sounds in response to Wash's little outcry. Then he just sits there and breaths and waits for death grip on his T-shirt to be released and for Wash to calm down enough to be coherent. He doesn't mind waiting.

"Sorry." He whispers again, after a few deep breaths, when the flickering flashbacks subside.

Wash's face softens. "Thank you.”

Tucker's just thinking that this is a really nice moment when Wash's phone goes off insanely loud causing them both to jump. Their eyes meet for a nanosecond before Tucker erupts into laughter at the absurdity of it all.

Wash's gives him a _you are crazy_ face with a smile tugging the corners of his mouth and they both fall about, near hysterical laughter covering the shrill beeping.

Wash tries to hold it off as long as he can, but eventually the sound grows too overbearing and he presses the receiver against his ear. A half-word gets through the line before he hangs up, flicking the device off and watching it's glow fade. Tucker just looks over with mild concern at the unbridled rage on the blonds features.

"I want to go to court." He says, abruptly and with conviction.

"Well okay then.” Tucker’s a little startled by the sudden shift in attitude and can't tell wether he should be pleased or very afraid. "Preliminary hearings on Monday.”

Wash nods. "Good." He pauses a second before continuing. "Will you be there?" His voice is small, soft, but undeterred.

Tucker can answer without hesitation. "If you want me to be.”

Wash smiles, the expression just reaching his eyes. "Then yes.”

"You sure about this?" Tucker's never quite seen that particular emotion painted so blatantly on Wash's face before and it's simultaneously terrifying and intoxicating. "This isn't a spur of the moment thing you'll regret?”

Wash turns enough to raise a single eyebrow in Tucker's direction. “Nope."

"Then I'm here for you.”

* * *

 

On the drive to the courthouse Wash is quiet, mouth drawn into a flat line and twisting his hands in his lap. Tucker keeps his eyes on the rain slick road and drums his fingers on the wheel. They're sitting within two feet of each other but they might as well be on different planets. Wash tries to keep his mind in the present, really, he does, but he can't even discern what's real anymore. Each flickered memory feels like it's happening at the same time, and it's a struggle not to flinch at passing cars let alone hold a conversation.

Tucker parallel parks across the street and Wash doesn't even seem to realize they've stopped.

He brushes a comforting hand across Wash's shoulder "It's going to fine.”

Wash jumps a little at the contact, but quickly pulls himself together enough to send him a reassuring smile. "I know.”

“Hey,” Tucker tilts Wash's chin up, forcing him to meet his eyes. "We can leave right now, you know that.”

Wash's mouth goes dry. "Yeah." His voice, thankfully, doesn't cut out on him this time. "But I don't want to.”

"Then come on.” Tucker takes his hand and they walk, a united front, towards the imposing marble structure. The courtroom looms up in front of them, casting deep shadows along it's front steps, a tall monolith that almost seems to rise from hell itself. Wash suddenly feels cold all over, and if it weren't for Tucker's hand leading him along he might have collapsed right then and there. There are reporters everywhere, cameras flashing like the paparazzi. It doesn't take a psychic to see that Wash can't deal with this right now. Tucker's not really sure he can handle it either.  But he does because Wash's hand is icy cold in his and because for some reason he's been so angry lately.

Tucker flips the bird and curses under his breath and maybe breaks an expensive camera, but somehow gets them both inside without either of them falling apart.

Wash is shaking, just slightly, but even as he's pushing open the door he looks at Tucker and his lips turn up, just a little. He might be okay, he might not, but he's here, and in that moment it seems like enough.

The wall clock ticks away the seconds until Epsilon is due to show up. Wash looks slightly uncomfortable in a grey dress shirt. The collar of which he keeps flipping up.  Tucker gives a sigh of annoyance and reaches over the seat to fix it. It earns him a glare but the normalcy of it lessens the tension a bit.

Somewhere in between the moment Wash's eyes meet Tuckers and the moment they meet Epsilon's, Wash loses all sense of focus. White noise drifts in with the sound of the doors opening and the quiet tapping of footsteps, and without knowing it he's clutching at Tucker's hand until his knuckles go white.

Tucker presses his thumb into the back of the Wash's hand in a grounding gesture. It's the only thing he can think of to let his sort-of boyfriend know he's here without  drawing attention.  Honestly he's not a fan of being here either, the ugly, familiar courthouse _(not the same one but they're all the same)_ is bringing back the sour twisted feeling in his gut. He has to keep reminding himself that this is Wash's problem and that he has no right to be hearing Junior's giggling and Ma's rasping laugh around every corner.

Wash isn't sure what the emotion that boils over as Epsilon walks across the room is, exactly, but it leaves him shaking slightly and with a hollow feeling in his chest nonetheless.

Tucker is so focused on Wash and keeping his own composure that not much of the event actually gets to him. Just random snippets cutting through the haze.  Domestic violence.  Three month sentence.  Pending more.  Finally, finally it's over and he and Wash can leave. 

Wash though, seems glued to his seat.

Wash isn't sure when the constant hum of voices stops, but he comes to with Tucker's hands laid gently across his face and worried eyes boring into his. "Sorry." He whispers, curling his fingers around Tucker's wrists.

"Please don't be.” Tucker gives him one final look before turning and leading briskly back to the car. The walk there is quiet, but not the same suffocating silence as before.

The drive is a blur. Goddammit Tucker get it the fuck together.

Wash almost says something every few minutes, but his head is still buzzing and all that he does is lean his head against the window and glance at Tucker from the corner of his eye.

At home, Wash is acting kind of weird. Even for Wash. Kind of prowling around and sending the oddest looks Tucker's way.

Wash needs to keep his hands busy. He flutters around the house, absently cleaning up Tucker's scattered belongings while trying to avoid the questions that hover in the air between them. Tucker stays quiet and tries to keep the concerned look off his face.  Wash flickers over and sits on the opposite end of the couch, bouncing his legs and twisting his hands in his lap. It's quiet, and cracks run along the sides of the walls he'd put together before the trial. Tucker finally has to break the silence.

“Wash?"

Wash exhales slowly. “Yeah?"

"This is the part where I ask if you're okay but.." He gestures to Wash's knotted fingers and wild eyes.

Wash's lips curve slightly. "I'll be fine.”

"Promise?" Tucker scoots towards him and Wash closes the gap so they're sitting against one another.

“Promise."

Tucker smiles. “Good."

He playfully presses a light kiss at the corner of the taller mans mouth. Wash returns the expression, and tilts his head to capture a proper kiss from Tucker's lips. Tucker laughs in pleasant surprise at Wash's warm reception of the contact, kisses him back slightly. Wash doesn't know what to do with his hands, but somehow they end up against Tucker's waist of their own accord. The suddenness of Wash's arms around him, with a hell of a lot more force than usual sends a rush of heat through Tucker's bloodstream and he instinctively reciprocates, curving himself to fit in Wash's arms and upping the intensity just a little. The temperature in the room rises by what must be ten degrees, the tension in Wash's form melting under the heat. He takes one hand and drags it through Tucker's hair, holding his palm steady against the back of his neck, locking the two of them into place. Tucker's brain is exploding.  Fizzing out into showers of fireworks and stars, painting the inside of his skull with layers of colour. 

Beautiful. 

But not right. 

"Wash!" Tucker gasps his name and pulls away, just a little, goddamn he doesn't want to. This must be too much for Wash though and Tucker wants him to call the shots- at least for now.

Wash just sits back and blinks for a second, then his brow furrows in confusion. "What?" He asks, unsure how much distance to keep between them. 

Tucker is a little worried about the wild, manic expression in Wash's eyes. “Are you-…Is this okay?”

Thunder cracks in Wash's brain. "Of course." He replies, too quickly.

Tucker starts to say something along the lines of _'it sure as hell doesn't look that way'_ but the other man cuts him off, yanking Tucker forward and kissing him lingeringly. The startled reaction is not at all what Wash expects, neither are the hands on his chest holding him back.

"Tucker?" He asks, growing ever more uncertain at Tucker's reluctant look. "This doesn't, I mean, really seem like you Wash?” Wash tilts his head in confusion. “What?”

"Wash." Tucker reaches up to push his hair out of his eyes. "You're usually not so…Okay with this stuff.”

He shakes his head.  _I'm not._ "It's fine. Really.”

Once again Tucker is cut off by Wash's lips meeting his own. "I want this.” Wash's voice is whisper soft, almost inaudible. Tucker kisses him back, reluctant to trust the begging tone of Wash's low voice. Wash's heart thunders against his ribs, giving new haste to his movements, but trepidation makes him less confident in his actions. Eventually, after a collision of wills in his own head, his hands rest on the small of Tucker's back, urgent  and yet unwavering. Tucker would later be proud of how he was managing to keep some small part of his mind rational. He would later be ashamed of how easily he gave in to Wash's small sounds of desperation, his fingers scrabbling for hold against Tucker's shirt. Wash whining for him, begging for him, stamps of need branding Tucker's neck.

Colours shift and fade behind Wash's eyes, and every pass of his hands along skin feels like someone different. Two people flash in and out, until he's not sure which one is really here. His body temperature spikes from burning hot to freezing cold in split seconds, his scalp and shoulders ache from the bruising that has long since faded. He chokes on the word _"Please."_ the next time he says it and hates that he's given in so easily.

Wash's movements are getting more frantic his eyes more afraid. But it's his voice stretched to breaking that breaks the hazy spell. "Wash stop."  He acts like he doesn't even hear. It takes Tucker almost forcing Wash's head up to break the trance, and the _snap_ of green eyes where there should have been grey.

Wash looks at him like he can't remember his own name.

Tucker immediately stands and takes a step away, cursing himself for not doing that sooner.

"I'm sorry." Wash says, biting off the sir. He tilts his head down, keeping his gaze fixed on the floor.

Tucker squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, trying to regain his composure. He will never stop hating that horrible scared look on Wash's face. “Wash." he says his name lullaby soft. "Wash it's me.“  Okay that was dumb thing to say. Tucker honestly has no idea why that seemed appropriate.

"Yes." Wash says, without proper thought, then slowly raises his head to face Tucker. "Yeah." He breathes, softer. More real.

Tucker presses a palm lightly to Wash's shoulder, encouraging him to sit. The seconds tick by as Wash's spine softens and the colour returns to his face. “Wash." Tucker finally breaks the silence. “Wha- What the fuck was that?”

Wash shakes his head. “Nothing."

“Haha, no.” Tucker sits down next to him, leaving plenty of space. “Please don't shut down on me now Washington.” Wash starts to say something, but it dissolves into nonsense. He presses his hands against his eyelids, biting his lip until it bleeds, holding back tears.

"Hey." Tucker leans towards him and Wash doesn't pull away. "Look, I'm sorry, we don't have to talk about this now." The response to that is Wash turning to lay his head on Tucker's shoulder, tears coursing silently over his cheeks. "I'm sorry." He says after a long moment.

"Don't be, please god don't be, I shouldn’t've gotten so caught up." 

"Not your fault." Wash replies, leaning back and dragging his sleeves across his cheeks. Then, quieter; “Mine."

"Not yours." Tucker murmurs. “His.”

Wash nods. "Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

"We're going to have a conversation Wash, do you want to talk now or wait?”

Wash lets out a long, slow breath. "Now. Now is better.”

"Okay" Tucker wets his lips and tries to make the images stitched together in his head into words. "First of all let me restate that I don't want anything from you that you don't want to give." He flicks his eyes up to Wash's for a second. "I swear to Christ I'll be better if that ever happens again.”

Several contradictions run through Wash's mind, but he settles on; "So will I.”

Tucker is afraid the voice the thought that's been running a loop through his mind, but he does "Am I- am I really that much like him?”

Wash's head snaps up. "God, Tucker, I-" He has to stop and take a breath. "No. Absolutely not.”

Tucker looks away to try and regain control of his facial expression, only partly reassured by Wash's shocked rebuttal.

"Tucker." Wash whispers, reaching out to brush dark locks from Tucker's face. "Don't ever think that. I love you, completely and utterly, and I trust you with my own life and more. Please," His voice breaks. "Please don't ever believe you could be anything like him.”

"Oh god, Wash.” Tucker captures the hand hovering uncertainly near his forehead. Icy cold. "I hope to hell I never break that trust.”

Wash smiles, eyes misty. "The fact that you said that tells me you won’t."

A smile finally touches Tucker's face. "I love you.”

"Good." Wash clasps his hands behind Tucker's back. "Because I don't know what I'd do if you didn’t.”

* * *

 

Tucker had sent Wash to bed before turning in himself but no matter how hard he punched his pillow into shape his restless mind kept him all too awake.

_Wash had said 'I love you' And you could barely say it back_

I meant it though

_It doesn't matter, you'll ruin this like you ruin everything_

_Remember how you got so caught up in  Wash that you kept kissing him like you couldn't see it hurt?_

No, no

_You're just like him_

Wash said I wasn't

_Liar_

_Remember when you let Wash get stabbed?_

Stop

_You're fucking this up Tucker. No; Epsilon_

Please stop

_Wash will never love you_

He does...

_All the worse then, you know what happens to things you love_

STOP

_YOU WILL RUIN WASH LIKE YOU RUINED JUNIOR_

stop please stop

_Never._

Tucker falls asleep with his insecurities being chanted in his ears and lead lining his stomach.


	4. Hope and Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, okay, so, final chapter. Goddamn. You guys have all been great, and a thank you to anyone who read, commented and kudo'd throughout the nine months this took to write. I've had a fantastic time with this, and I'm going to go out a limb and say my co-writer did too.
> 
> There will be an epilogue, so expect that sometime this week.
> 
> Many thanks,  
> ~Aya & Co

Wash blinks himself awake before dawn, a frustrated sigh passing his lips. He stands, paces, sits back down and makes one more last-ditch attempt at sleep before accepting his reality. His tired, zombie-ish reality. _Dammit._

He doesn't leave the couch for the next hour, watching the sunshine filter in through the windows and coat the room in warm light. He runs his palms over his face, as if trying to smooth out the hollows under his eyes, and shuffles across the room for a glass of water.

Pulling a chair up against the counter, he sets his head down on his forearms and begins the painstaking process of pulling the nightmares from his brain.

When Tucker finally emerges from his cocoon he finds Wash asleep leaning on the counter. Tucker laughs quietly to himself and starts making coffee, humming some obnoxious top 40 song as he does so.

Wash stirs at the sound of footsteps on tile, but only murmurs something unintelligible under his breath and buries himself further into the formica in response.

"Wake up" Tucker gently shakes the blond's shoulder "I made you coffee with the socks on."

Wash just grumbles and bats his hand away "Goddammit Wash get up we're going to be late.”

Wash slowly lifts his head, squinting against the unwelcome daylight. "Late for what?" He asks, words slurred slightly from the lingering pull of sleep.

"School, dumbass." Tucker tousles his boyfriend's (?) hair affectionately. "Spring break's over.”

Wash's eyes go wide. "Shit." He's on his feet instantly, mind whirling at a thousand miles an hour.

"Wash," Tucker smiles teasingly at the other man. "We have an hour, I know you're impossible to get going on short notice." Wash expression changes from panic to slightly murderous. "At least you're awake though.”

Wash half collapses against the counter. "Fuck you." He replies, dragging a hand down his cheek.

Tucker just snickers and darts into his room to get dressed 

 

It takes Wash just under thirty minutes to get ready, brushing the lethargy from his body as he does so. He concludes this routine by hovering close to the door and pacing while trying to make sure he hasn't forgotten anything.

Tucker spends the last 10 minutes before they have to leave snickering at Wash's ridiculous pacing and at the knowledge that, though he doesn't know it, his phone is still sitting on the coffee table.

"What?" Wash snaps at him after a long while of being stared and laughed at.

"Forget anything?" Tucker asks innocently.

Wash looks down, frowning. "No?" He asks more than he answers.

Tucker just rolls his eyes and presses the phone into Wash's hand “Dumbass.”

Wash sighs, a full shoulder slump of defeat. "Thanks." Tucker kisses his cheek and takes his hand as they leave the apartment "You need to get out more.”

Wash scowls. "I'm not a hermit." He protests, even as Tucker leads him out the door.

“Yeah, ‘cause I'm around.” Tucker laughs, but gently his time, turning Wash's head around to kiss him properly.

Wash hums quietly in response, reaching a hand up to rest against Tucker's cheek.

Tucker breaks the kiss to head out to car. Wash's face is glowing bright pink and his blue eyes are shining, it's an endless amusement/turn on to Tucker how quickly Wash gets flustered. Shaking off the butterflies, Wash follows Tucker out on the driveway, taking a seat passenger side in the car while Tucker does the same opposite him.

 

The school day is long, and boring, and did Tucker mention _long?_ Ugh. He has no classes with Wash until last block of the day and flirting madly with Kai and the other girls was less fun than when Wash was just a shadow in the back of math class.

 

Wash's day is flat but uninterrupted, not quite as informative as it could've been but not excruciating either. Through the day, even though he only sees Tucker in one class, he can almost hear the sarcastic remarks about the lesson and has to stop himself from laughing aloud on several occasions.

 

 

The two meet up after school and Tucker drives home (bitching about homework), Wash listening and rolling eyes.

"You know," Wash points out. "If you spent less time complaining and more time doing homework, you might not have this problem.”

“Yeah, but I have an awesome boyfriend who's good at math.” Tucker realizes a second later that he's never called Wash his boyfriend, ever.

Wash realizes this at exactly the same moment, and instead of acknowledging it he rolls his eyes and says "Are you trying to get me to do your homework for you?”

Tucker parks the car and leans over to kiss Wash so deep the ground crumbles away. “Yes." 

"Yeah, not gonna happen." Wash stumbles over the words while his brain catches up with his mouth, dispersing the haze that lingers on his brain. Tucker pouts like a child denied sweets all the way up the stairs to the apartment. Wash can only laugh at his idiocy.

"Why not?" Tucker taunts "Afraid of having my grades equal yours?”

"Afraid of you being released into the real world.”

"The real world? Seriously Wash? This the guy who's so afraid of his ex-fucking-boyfriend he barely leaves this apartment?!”

Wash flinches, a full body recoil, stopping dead in the driveway. "What?" He asks, struck dumb by the argument.

Tucker snuffs out the flicker of doubt that he's said way too much. "You heard me.”

"Yeah," Wash murmurs. "But I wish I hadn’t."

"Afraid of the truth David?”

"Can you just...stop talking?”

Something about this is wrong, Tucker knows that but he hears himself, his voice ugly, just keep on going.

Wash takes a step back, shoulders and arms curling to protect his stomach.

Tucker can't remember what's he's saying but Wash's eyes turn to fire and the door slams shut so loud the walls vibrate and he just stands there like _what the fuck just happened?_

 

Once outside, Wash's rage freezes over, ice spires driving fear across his body, the scar over his abdomen burning. He chokes on a breath of air, quickening his stride to get across the driveway as fast as possible. He wrenches the door of Epsilon's car open, climbing in and pulling the keys from where he keeps them in his jacket pocket. He reverses away from the house, and starts down the street in a random direction down the street with his hands clenched tight over the wheel.

 

Tucker can hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. Jesus Christ he hasn't blown up like that in fucking years, as soon as he knows that he starts shaking with fury, at no one but himself. He loves Wash, yeah he loves him he couldn't have said that he would never say that. 

_But you did._  

Wasn't me. 

_It was._  

_ITWASNTME, ISWEARITWASNTME!_

He screams the last phrase out loud, echoing through the silent building. He doesn't think to go after Wash, he wants to, god he wants to, wants to beg his forgiveness and swear he didn't mean a word of it. But he doesn't go after him, cause he knows that he's ruined this. Another perfect thing in his life he's managed to poison.  Almost mechanically Tucker reaches for a knife in the kitchen drawer. Actions like that deserve punishment.

 

Wash drives senselessly for a few minutes before gathering his bearings and taking a left, visiting one of the shadier areas of town. He pulls up in front of a dark, black and grey house, checking the number in front the building. In green plating, 33456 matches perfectly the number he'd originally memorized to be sure he avoided.

He stalks right up to the door and bangs his fist against the wood three times. A tall figure answers, dark skinned with a thick X across his face in scarred skin.

"You wanted to talk." Wash says, running on haste and adrenaline. "I'll answer anything you want, but...I need a favour.”

 

Before the knife can pierce the fragile skin of Tucker's inner arm a spike of clarity pierces his mind. It's one word: No. 

_No, I won't go back to that place._

_No, I will change._

_No._

In a half second, Tucker picks up the phone to dial a number he only has for _'court ordained reasons'_. 

It's picked up on the second ring, a smoke and chemical voice.  "What?!" 

"Hi Ma!" Tucker's voice is sunshine even as his fist rhythmically pounds the countertop,

"This isn't your day to talk to my son." 

Before the click and dial tone, Tucker's words flow like a river. "Guess what Ma? Guess what I did today? I drove away the only good thing in my life, I drove him right the fuck away just I did with Junior." A hysterical laugh bubbles up in his throat. "You did that too, Ma, didn't you?" A sharp intake of breath over the line. "But I'm going to find him, I'm going to stop the poison like you never ever could, I'm better than you Ma and I don't need your permission to see my brother cause as soon as I get Wash back I am marching down to the courthouse and telling the goddamn world exactly why Junior is better off with anyone but you." 

"You wou-"

"Bye Ma, I don't need you, I guess we're even now." 

And this time Tucker is the one to hang up.

 

After about an hour of seemingly purposeless interrogation, Wash is finally comfortable enough to leave that dark house, stepping into his car with a sigh of relief. He pulls from the drive, and heads unconsciously but with a deep rooted resignation to the only place he could really call home.

 

Tucker meant what he'd said. He was going to find Wash, even though he probably wouldn't come back, he had to apologize. He sure as hell won't let him go so easily. As he thought this he got in the jeep and started driving aimlessly. He has no idea where the other man might be but he can't sit at home. Eventually he pulls over to a random side street and dials Wash's number.

Answering machine. "Hi, Wash, it's Tucker. I-I didn't mean a word of anything I said." His voice broke. "I don't deserve it but will you give me a chance to explain? At least, please, tell me you're okay. I love you." He hits end and squeezes his eyes shut, leaning on wheel. Still a fuck up.

 

Wash realizes, pulling the car into the driveway only to find Tucker absent, that a voicemail had come through from that very man just moments before. He presses the receiver to his ear. He listens to the choked apology, suddenly feeling helpless all over again, and all the once the trip to Locus's feels like a true betrayal.

He calls the number back and waits for an answer.

Tucker snatches the phone off the seat with a fervent prayer to whatever the fuck might be listening. "Hi?" His voice, even to himself, sounds strangled. He takes a breath and tries again. "Hello?" Better. A little.

"Hi," Wash replies, breathless. "I'm at the house." He adds, asking silently why Tucker isn’t.

"O-okay" Tucker is simultaneously overjoyed and scared shitless. "Can, I mean, will you let me try and apologize?”

Wash looks down, kicking his feet against the pavement and leaning his hip on the car door. "Will you let me do the same?" He asks, voice dropping to nearly nothing.

"No?" Tucker clamps the phone to his ear as he drives towards home "I don't know what the fuck you'd be apologizing for?" Wash starts to speak and Tucker cuts him off. “Look, I'm driving, I have to hang up, love you.” Tucker throws the device back onto the seat and goes flying towards home and Wash. Mostly Wash.

"But I messed up too." Wash protests after Tucker's already hung up, staring at the caller ID still lingering on the screen. He takes a deep breath, letting his head fall back to look up at the sky. He goes to pocket the phone, initially reaching for the pocket inside his jacket before he realizes what's there and instead slips it into the back pocket of his jeans.

Tucker finds the other man waiting uncomfortably by his usual parking space. “Wash," as soon as he manages to get out the name the words come in a rush. "I'm so sorry, I don't even know enough to tell you how much I hate that I hurt you and I understand if you never like ever want to see me again but I want you to know that I love you and I didn't mean it Wash, I just got mad I didn't mean it.” Tucker has to pause to catch  his breath at that point and realizes there's a single tear clinging to Wash's eyelash. “Wash....?"

Wash smiles, not altogether happily, a single sob breaking through before he reaches out to pull Tucker close to him, wrapping his arms around Tucker's shoulders. "I love you too." Then, quieter, "Don't go." He waits half a second, drawing a shaky breath, before stepping back and wiping tears from his eyes. "I have a confession." He says, pulling a slip of paper and something else from his inside pocket and handing Tucker the note, an address written in green ink across it.

Tucker looks down at bright emerald ink scrawled across the page, but instead of unfolding it blinks up at Wash is bewilderment. He's not sure when him begging forgiveness turned into Wash telling him not to leave but he's confused at hell and the string of numbers in his hand is not helping.

Wash shifts, ducking his head under Tucker's scrutiny. "That's Locus's address." He says, biting his lip and looking down. "That's where I went.”

Tucker's eyes widen in shock. Locus? It can't be _The_ Locus, can it?

"Wash?" Tucker's voice is small, uncertain. “What?”

Wash presses a hand to his face. "I didn't know where to go." He confesses, tears falling down his cheeks. "I asked him how to defend myself, and he-" his voice breaks, and he lays his palm flat in front of him to reveal a six inch switchblade. "He gave me this.”

_Oh sweet Jesus._ Tucker sucks in a breath. _Yup it is the one and only Locus alright._ "What, what did you have to tell him?" Tucker asks quietly.

Wash can't bring his eyes up to Tucker's face. "More than I wanted to.”

Tucker tries, and fails, to catch Washington's eye. "Like what?”

Wash shrugs. "Everything I told you," he murmurs. "Except in more detail.”

Tucker is about to speak as a chill wind sweeps the garage and he notices that his companion is shivering. "Lets go upstairs,” he suggests, tentatively taking Wash's hand.

Wash nods, and lets himself be led into the apartment, waiting for instructions just inside the door rather than taking a seat. They hover awkwardly in the doorway for a couple of eternities before Tucker can't stay silent "Are we okay?" He finally bursts out. “'Cause if we're not we should fix it and, and if we are then come in so we can figure out how to deal with this!”

"Sorry." Wash murmurs, and walks over to take his usual seat on the couch, and Tucker does the same next to him. They face each other, in the same way they always do when they sit here and talk about serious stuff, and Wash is the first to speak. "Listen, we messed up. You messed up and then I messed up. But please, I'm sorry and I love you and I forgive you so whatever it takes, I wanna work this out.”

“Yeah," Tucker's face splits into a wide grin, he nods furiously. "I wanna work this out too, a lot.”

"Okay, good." Wash says, and then in the subsequent silence. "I've never done this before, where do we start?”

"Well do I tell you that I called my mother today and yelled at her that I was going to fix things with you and that I was going to try get Junior away from her?”

Wash's eyes go wide. "Jesus, really?”

Tucker smiles halfway between proud and ashamed. “Yeah,” a laugh bubbles up in his throat. "I told her I didn't need her and I hung up before she could answer.” He turns serious again. "I'm tired of being poison.”

Wash's lips quirk, there and gone so fast that if Tucker had blinked he'd have missed it. "That's very brave.”

"You're saying that?" Tucker teases, “The guy that marched his ass up Locus fucking Castile's and came home with a knife?”

Wash's face falls. "I wouldn't call what I did brave."

"Well I would call it incredibly brave, and,” Tucker raises one eyebrow in a come-hither expression. "Incredibly hot.” His ridiculous innuendo draws a laugh from the blond.

"Seriously," Wash tries again when he's regained his composure. "Don't idealize me; I sold my life story to a psychopath, that was the most cowardly thing I could've done.”

Tucker just shrugs. “Seriously," he echoes Wash's somber tone. "What are we going to do with that?" He gestures to the knife on the table in front of them, the steel glinting cruelly.

Wash bites his lip until he draws blood. "I was gonna keep it." He whispers. "But if you want to, you can take it.”

"Do you want me to take it?" Tucker asks him. He leans forward to gently wipe the bright drops from Wash's lower lip.

"No." Wash murmurs, looking up again to meet Tucker's eyes. He shakes his head, shoulder slumped. "I'm tired of feeling defenceless.”

“Okay." Tucker agrees, before adding; "I don't know if I'm allowed but I really want to kiss you right now.” He leaves the confession hanging in the air, waiting for Wash to speak.

Wash smiles for real. "I'd like that too.”

Tucker curls his fingers into the collar of his boyfriend's shirt and pulls him close so they're pressed flush, and catches Wash's mouth with his own. Lemons and copper, the now familiar scent washing over his senses smooths away the last ruffles of nerves. Wash grins against Tucker's lips, tracing soft circles against Tucker's lower back with his hands. Tucker breaks the kiss, causing Wash to let out a soft whine. "Why the hell did you let me come back?" Tucker doesn't want to ask but he has to know. "Why am I still allowed to have all this?”

Wash face softens, and he reaches out to rest his palm against Tucker's cheek. "Because I love you." He says, then smiles. "It's not much of a riddle, Tucker.”

Tucker settles back down against Wash's chest, kissing that perfect spot where his neck meets his shoulder. Wash makes a breathy little gasping sound and tightens his hands over Tucker's hips. Tucker pulls himself away to lean lean heavily against his boyfriend's side. "We're gonna fine aren't we?" Tucker's not quite sure what he's asking but he knows what he wants to hear.

Wash wraps an arm around Tucker's shoulders. "Yeah," he says quietly. "Yeah, I think so.”

Tucker grins up at Wash. "And they lived happily ever fucking after.”

Wash laughs. "I thought we weren't in a bad lifetime movie.”

"We'd be in a great lifetime movie- if they existed.”

Wash reaches up to brush a strand of hair from Tucker's face. "We'll break the cinematic stereotype.”

Tucker wrinkles his nose and fixes the hair behind his ear. "You still do that wrong.”

Wash sighs. "Well it's not like I've had a lot of practice.”

"Just be better at life Wash.”

"Hey I'm plenty good at life!”

Tucker is about to _(no seriously)_ come up with an amazing reply when the phone starts going off and Tucker freezes. Home phone. No one calls the home phone. 

Wash feel Tucker stiffen, and he glances between him and the phone before pulling away just slightly. There are questions on the tip of his tongue but he's more worried about the deer-in-the-headlights look on Tucker's face.

He shakes his head to clear it and gets up to answer. The first thing Tucker feels is relief; it's not his mother. The second thing? Dread. He knows that burning ice voice from a hospital room and a sinister apartment. It says "Who the fuck are you?" loud enough the Wash can probably hear it. “Tucker," he answers evenly before turning to mouth _‘Epsilon_ ’ at Wash's concerned/questioning face.

Wash leans back and nods, clearing his face of all emotion. _'You want to take this,'_ he mouths back. _'Or should I?’_

Tucker steps towards the other man and briefly links their fingers to silently reply _‘both’_ even as the chewing-nails sound on the other end of the line. "Where the hell is that little slut?" Tucker grits down a retort _(not my fight)._ "I'll thank you not to talk about my boyfriend that way.” There's a moment of pure quiet before a roar of threats and curses pour into the apartment. Wash grabs the phone from Tucker's hand and says "It's me." as he moves away, Tucker can just hear roar soften into a pleading wheedle of sugary apologies. Tucker feels sick.

Epsilon starts trying to sweet talk him the minute Wash gets on the phone. As if he thought Wash couldn't hear all the terrible things he'd said to Tucker. The soft tone of Epsilon's voice is offset by by the forcefulness that never quite leaves his tone. The familiar tight feeling in Wash's stomach returns almost immediately, and his hand is shaking at his side. He shuts Epsilon up with one, wavering word.

Tucker is pacing. Doing laps around kitchen table, circling the couch. Trying not to explode while his thoughts circle faster than his feet. 

He called Wash a slut. He called my boyfriend a slut. I'm going to kill him.

_Wash can handle it._

“No." 

One word, clear like fresh water. Delicious.

There's nothing for a long moment, just the static sound of Epsilon's sharp intake of breath and then silence. Long, immovable silence, in which the house could've collapsed around him and Wash wouldn't have moved a muscle.

And then the screaming starts.

It's so abrupt, one minute Epsilon is quiet and the next he's full blown yelling obscenities. Wash nearly jumps out of his skin, and as it is he takes a step back and hits the wall. His heart is pounding in his ears, and he has to pull the phone away from his head and rest it on his chest to try to regain his composure. He inhales deeply, and when he reaches up there are tears on his face. He can still hear Epsilon even with the speaker covered, and the vibrations of speech beat like a drum against his skin.

It takes three strides for Tucker to be across the room and grabbing the phone. His breathing is rough and his hands are shaking. “Listen, Epsilon.” Tucker is forgetting it's not his fight. "Stay the hell away from my family.” He hands the device back to Wash and stretches on tiptoe to whisper "Tell him.”

Wash takes the phone with trembling hands. "Epsilon." He says into the receiver, and the line goes quiet. "You don't own me." Epsilon starts to speak over the phone but Wash just keeps going. "I am an actual human being, not a punching bag. And despite all the times I've ben put down, I'm still breathing." His eyes flicker up to Tucker, and he gathers strength that way. "For as long as I can remember, I've been lied to, taken advantage of, stabbed in the back, and left for dead. And now I have a way out of all of that. I'm still breathing, and I'm going to keep breathing. And as long as I have a life worth living, you won't be part of it." He takes a deep, shuddering breath. "Goodbye Epsilon. Thanks for nothing.”

After the click of the line being disconnected tucker turns to Wash a crazy smile stretching his cheeks. "Oh my god.”

Wash laughs, a shaky, relieved sound. "Jesus Christ," he whispers, wiping the tears from his face. "I didn't think I could do that.”

"Well then it's a good thing I knew you could all along.” Tucker wraps his arms around Wash's neck and hugs him tightly. "That was amazing babe.”

Wash curls his arms around Tucker's waist. "Thank you.”

"Not to mention,” Tucker smirks up at the blond. "That was incredibly hot.”

Wash grins, placing a hand on either side of Tucker's face. "Is that so?" He murmurs, and leans down to kiss him.

"Definitely, I am an expert on being super hot.”

Wash raises an eyebrow. Tucker just laughs and replaces the phone in its cradle.

 

* * *

 

When Tucker bounces out of bed on a rainy Tuesday morning shaking with nerves, Wash looks understandably concerned.

Wash is leaning against the counter, but he sees Tucker he straightens. "You okay?”

"Fuck no.” Tucker replies honestly, it's true but even through a thick coating of anxiety a smile spreads across his face.

Wash smiles in a way that's supposed to be reassuring but really isn't, and reaches out to take Tucker's hand. "That's understandable.”

Tucker finally realizes he's freaking Wash out. "So while you were out yesterday,” he begins. "I made some phone calls, I spoke with a lawyer, child protection services, my mother.” His manic grin returns as he continues. "And Junior.”

Wash's face softens. "Yeah? What happened?”

"I'm making good on my promise.” Tucker states. "I'm going to court to try and get J away from my mother and into a foster home until I can I get at least partial custody.” He's never actually said those plans out and it's terrifying.

Wash reaches out to brush a strand of hair from Tucker's face. "You're amazing.”

"Hell no, what I am is so goddamn scared.” He steps towards his boyfriend and leans against his chest so his words are barely audible. "What if I fuck this up?”

Wash curls his hands around Tucker's waist. "You won't. Trust me, if anyone can make this work, it'll be you.”

"But what if I don’t?"

Wash pulls back to look Tucker in the eyes, resting a palm on either side of Tucker's face. "It won't come to that, okay? I believe in you.”

 

* * *

 

The next few weeks are, well, awful. Tucker feels like he's either sleeping or in meetings or court or trying not to completely crack up. It was pretty bad but would've been decidedly worse without Wash being literally the best boyfriend in the world and making Tucker coffee at all hours (and not bitching about the amount of sugar Tucker dumps in it) and by (thank you lord) not asking him about how things went, instead distracting him with random pictures of cats online or just cuddling in front of the TV.

It would be stupid to assume Wash isn't worried sick, with no real way to understand what Tucker is going through. He can see the stress mounting with every court case, and resolves to make sure that he's lessened it by the end of the evening. And with every day that passes, he grows to admire Tucker even more, for his bravery and his strength.

 

Last court appearance, aka the Day Of Reckoning. Tucker grabs his stuff and kisses a still sleeping Wash's forehead as he leaves to meet his fate, or you know, his lawyer. But fate sounds cooler.

 

Wash wakes to find Tucker's already left.

 

It's a long, long day. Tucker can't wait to get home and fold himself into Wash's arms. At the building, he throws the door open and launches himself into Wash's lap. "We _won!”_

It takes a full four seconds for the words to go through Wash's brain, and he just blinks at Tucker for a moment. Then his face splits into a wide grin. He laughs, a light, bubbly sound. "Oh my God, really?”

"Yes!" Tucker almost screeches throwing his arms around Wash's neck. They both act like idiots for a few minutes before calming down with Tucker seated comfortably in the blond's lap. "Honestly I can't even believe this is happening.” Tucker admits.

Wash smiles, hooking an arm over Tucker's shoulders. "I knew you could do it.”

"Well that makes one of us.”

Wash's features fall into something that's not quite joy and not quite sympathy. "Well, I think that's the most happy I've ever been to have you proven wrong.”

"You love proving me wrong, you shmuck." Tucker teases.

Wash laughs. "I can't deny that.”

"Shut _up._ " Tucker whines, smacking him playfully on the shoulder.

Wash grins. "Make me.”

Tucker rolls his eyes even as he leans forward to press a soft kiss against Wash's lips.

They're both laughing and devolving into insults again as they pull away, but Wash cuts them both off in a press of lips, both grinning too much for it to really be called a kiss.

Wash pulls back, only a little, and his eyes meet Tucker's from just inches away. "I really love you." He whispers into the empty space.

"I know.” Tucker smirks, dodging Wash's half-hearted attempt to smack him with a pillow and leaning close to whisper. "And I really, really love you too.”

Wash smiles. "I was hoping you would say that."

"And I was hoping,” Tucker smiles. "That my awesome boyfriend call for Chinese so we don't have to leave the house and buy groceries.”

Wash laughs. "Subtle." He comments, and goes to pick up the phone.

 

* * *

 

Tucker stumbles out of his room with the widest grin Wash has ever seen him wear. He doesn't say anything, doesn't even need to, because Wash would have to be blatantly ignorant to not know what day it is by now. Instead, he reaches out, takes Wash's hand, and leads him to the car.

Tucker can barely keep his focus on the road enough to not wrap the car around a tree, he's almost shaking with excitement. He's seen his brother 3 or 4 times in the past few weeks but he's been wildly impatient to introduce Wash to him.

Wash watches Tucker from the passenger side, soft smile on his face. The anticipation is contagious, and he can feel it buzzing in his nerves.

Finally _(finally)_ they pull up at Linda and Peter's house. They're Juniors foster family, nice and just eccentric enough to take J's issues in a stride. Tucker approves 100%, and so does Junior but that might be more because of their dog, Shaggy, than any humans involved. 

As soon as Tucker knocks the door is flung open and Junior rockets towards his knees like a homing missile. Tucker laughs and swings his brother up into his arms in a giggling arc before squishing him in a hug and setting him down on the porch. Wash hangs back a few steps, and watches the display with a bemused smile. He sees Tucker and Junior laughing, and thinks, if this is what family's really like, he might want one after all.

Tucker spins to look at him, light in his eyes, and Wash grins back.

As soon as Junior sees Wash he and flees to safety behind his brother, peeking out around Tucker's knees. Tucker turns and squats so they're eye to eye. "It's okay J, that's Wash.” 

"Blargh?"

"Yes, the one I told you about.”

Suddenly a mischievous glint appears in Juniors eyes. "Honk blarg honk?" 

Tucker sighs, feeling his cheeks flush. "Yes, my boyfriend.”

Wash tries to look less nervous and more reassuring, but the effect isn't really what he hopes. Nevertheless, Junior steps away from Tucker's side, taking a few hesitant paces forward to stop a few feet away from Wash.

Wash sinks down his knees so they're the same height, and lifts a hand to wave. Junior doesn't say anything, but he isn't hiding either, so Wash counts that as a plus.

Tucker stifles a laugh at the freaked out expression on Wash's face, it's funny but it's not really surprising, most people have a hard time dealing with Junior. Tucker turns to his brother "Hey Junior, why don't you go get your comic books and show Wash.” Junior takes off into the house and Tucker pulls Wash up to kiss him quickly.

Wash laughs sheepishly, rubbing a hand against the back of his neck. “Sorry."

"You're doing great." Tucker reassures him, kissing him again, sweeter this time. It's at that moment that Junior trots back outside and, seeing them kiss makes an exaggerated vomit noise. Tucker, of course, leans down to kiss the top of Juniors head which results in the kid socking him in the leg and Tucker catching and tickling him until he squeals. 

Tucker's heart is going to explode. With his little brother and his boyfriend pretty everyone he loves is within 5 feet of him right now and it doesn't get better than this.

Wash resumes his position of falling back and observing, laughing at Tucker nearly bouncing up and down with excitement. 

Standing with his hands in his pockets, he still looks a little awkward, but past that, he looks happy.

Junior manages to escape Tucker's evil attempts to tickle him into oblivion and runs towards Wash, grabbing his legs with a clear facial expression of _'save me’_.

Wash laughs, almost knocked over with the unexpected contact. He looks up at Tucker, who nods, and he shifts so he's standing between the two brothers. "I think we can take him on, don't you?" He says, and Junior grins up at him.

It's the kind of day that makes Tucker wish he carried a camera. Instead, he takes mental snapshots of his family. _His family_ , that sounds righter than right. 

Junior throwing a handful of mud at a tree.

_Snap._

Wash covered in grass stains, not bruises.

_Snap._

Junior with a dollop of ice cream on his nose.

_Snap._

Junior sneaking licks of his ice cream while he thinks Tucker isn't looking.

_Snap._

Junior and Wash with matching evil grins.

_Snap._

Tucker's family.

_Snap._

And it's not much of a riddle that they all live happily ever after.

Or some bullshit like that.


	5. Happily Ever After (Or Some Bullshit Like That)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. I have no excuse other than I am bad at life :/

Tucker pulls into the driveway, taking his keys from the ignition and searching the ring for the house key. He gets out of the car and makes his way up to the door, humming softly to himself. He fits the key in the lock, and pushes it open.

The lights are off. The shutters over the windows are closed. A dim glow filters in through the curtains, but shadows still lurk along the walls and in corners. Silence greets his entrance, a cloak laid over the room.

Tucker takes a hesitant step forward, peering around the entry in search of movement. He squares his back to the door, prepared but unsure what for-

And there's a high pitched laugh from the other room, the one of many possible outcomes that catches him completely off guard, and Junior comes barreling down the hall, Wash hot on his heels. Tucker's gaze follows the flash of movement, and when he looks back, Wash has skidded to a stop in front of him.

He looks like something out of a dream, blond hair stuck up in all direction except for one strand that falls right over the middle of his forehead. The light catches the side of his face through the shutters, casting golden streaks across his skin. His freckles stand out more than ever against the dimly lit backdrop, scattered over his face like constellations. His eyes are lit up blue like a beacon in the darkness, almost like a  _will-o'-the-wisp_ in the way they beckon.

"Hi." He says, breathless, leaning down to press his lips to Tucker's cheek. He grins, shining, and takes off after Junior again.Tucker lets out a belated laugh, following the procession at a much more leisurely pace.

He is surprised, but honestly should not have been surprised, by what he sees when he walks into the living room.

The couch has been pushed off to one side of the room, the coffee table to the other. A thin, white sheet is pinned to the wall in one corner of the room, sloping down to hook around the couch. Running from that point down and over to the coffee table is another, thicker blanket. A smattering of similar makeshift tarps is strewn across the rest of the room, taking up almost the entire space. There are cushions thrown about on the floor, and little glowing lamps placed around the interior of the structure. It was impressive, for the small amount of time that Tucker had been gone.

Junior is tucked in between the coffee table and the wall, one hand over his mouth to stifle his giggling. Wash, who had seen him clearly but chose to draw out the game, is strolling around in the room like a detective in an 80s movie, dramatically jumping to look behind blankets and chairs. He's trying to keep a straight face, but the corners of his lips draw upwards involuntarily. Tucker can't help but laugh when Wash leaps out to where Junior's hiding, and the kid shrieks before taking off in the opposite direction. Wash takes a few steps after him, and then stops, turing to face where Tucker still stands.

The two each take a step forward, and meet in the middle, Tucker winding his arms over Wash's shoulders and Wash's hands finding Tucker's hips. "Welcome home." Wash whispers, leaning down so their foreheads touch.

Tucker huffs. "And here I was expecting to be the main attraction." He glances around the room. "You two put on a hell of a show."

Wash shrugs, ducking his head. "You left me alone with the kid, what did you expect?"

"Total destruction." Tucker says, completely straight faced. Wash laughs.

"Well then that marks another scenario where I'm glad to have proved you wrong."

Tucker shoves at his shoulder. "You always love proving me wrong, asshole."

Wash just grins, and Tucker leans up to kiss his smile. Wash's hand finds his jaw, and pulls him close so they're flush from head to toe. There's a loud, dramatic gagging sound from across the room. and the two break apart to see Junior standing with his arms crossed and pulling a disgusted face. Wash turns and his eyes find Tucker's. Tucker nods at him, and the two take off running after Junior.

There's a second, a very long second, where Tucker's mind moves faster than the world around them. He slows just a touch, think that maybe this does kinda feel like a cheesy lifetime movie. The Wash glances over at him, practically glowing, and Tucker decides that he doesn't give a damn.

It might not be what he planned, or predicted for his life, but this little patchwork family is the best thing that's ever happened to him. For all the things wrong with him, for all the bullshit he's caused, he regrets nothing because in the end it got him here.

He's happy, and there's nothing that's bullshit about that.


End file.
